The Shores of Xanadu A Rewrite
by prometheus55
Summary: After the successful battle at Char, the Hyperion leaves orbit to continue the crusade against the Dominion. In a different but similar universe, the Hyperion arrives adrift and lifeless, altering the fate of the entire galaxy for centuries to come. -ON HIATUS.
1. Preface

**Preface**

So here we go; a rewrite of The Shores of Xanadu.

First thing's first however. I'd like to thank the author of the original Shores of Xanadu for his excellent work. Without him I would have nothing to work with and he's still serving as my beta, advisor and sounding board. So thank you avatar11792 for all your help.

I would also encourage people to read the original. It is an excellent read and one that I very much enjoyed.

Now for all the legal stuff. I do not own Starcraft, Halo, Alien or any other intellectual property referenced in this story. They belong to powerful corporations that could crush me like a bug if they so choose.


	2. Prologue

**Prologue**

_RRV Hyperion_

_Char Orbit, Koprulu Sector_

_December 12, 2504_

It was done. The war, the Zerg… everything was over.

Or that's what he would've liked to have believed, if only for a moment. Just for this one moment in time, James Raynor was content to sit back, put his feet on the table and drink his scotch. He had Kerrigan back. She was herself again, more or less. Char was purged of Zerg depriving the damned bugs of one of their major bases in the sector.

The recent victory had drawn hundreds to his cause. 'Hell, it'd drawn an army,' he thought with a smirk. He had a dozen battlecruisers, hundreds of fighters, thousands of Marines and countless quantities of war materiel at his disposal. He commanded a force to rival any in the known galaxy.

Some like Rory Swann and Matt Horner had been following him for years. Some had joined up during the Second Great War. More had defected in the wake of the invasion, people like General Warfield and countless numbers of his men. He'd led them though the hell that was Char, into the very center of the swarm. And he'd led them to victory.

They'd survived. They'd accomplished their objectives. And then it had happened. Mengsk. Arcturus fucking Mengsk. The son of a bitch always had a backup plan. A plan within a plan within plans.

And it had cost Tychus his life.

Looking into the depths of his glass, the rippling reflection of his scarred, pitted, time-worn face, Raynor sighed. He'd shed his tears over his friend's corpse. He'd kept the promise he made to himself all those months ago and removed him from that god-damned suit. And he'd given him a burial among the stars. Now there was only revenge.

Finishing his drink, Jim made his way towards the bridge. 'Time to get this show on the road.'

As the Hyperion and her escorts broke orbit, something was poised to intercept them. A cosmic string fragment, ageless and timeless passed silently through the system, invisible and undetected. And as the mighty warships initiated their jump to warp, something miraculous happened, an event un-witnessed by even the nearly immortal Xel'naga. For but a moment, the ships seemed to split in two.

One group would continue their way towards Mar Sara. The other would change the history of an entire galaxy.

Had anyone been present to witness the event, they would've described it as the heavens splitting open. Twelve dark shapes emerged from the distortion; cold, silent and lifeless. And then it was gone.

Only one entity detected the event, a small observation satellite orbiting Triton, the largest moon of Neptune. Unable to comprehend the event, the small machine did what it was programmed to do.

It called home. And things would never be the same.

* * *

_United Nations Space Command (UNSC) Interplanetary Survey Station Twelve_

_Titania Orbit, Uranus Sector_

_February 24, 2289_

As he studied the spectrographic readings that scrolled down his display, Lieutenant Harvey Dent felt his excitement rising. Turning to his commanding officer, he could barely contain himself. If he was right, this could change everything.

"Yes Harvey," sighed Lieutenant Commander Elizabeth Williams. While he was an excellent sensor technician, Lieutenant Dent was far too hyperactive for his own good.

"Ma'am," he began, taking a deep, calming breath. "I think you should see this."

Floating over to the console, Elizabeth studied the information. She'd long grown used to 'unusual' readings. Normally it meant that they'd discovered a new asteroid floating in the great gulf that separated the Sol System's gas giants from each other. If they were lucky they would find a new comet or some piece of junk left over from centuries of witless, uncoordinated space exploration. But as she scrolled through line after line of readings she knew that, whatever they'd detected, it wasn't a stray rock.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked, eyes wide.

"Triple-checked ma'am. The readings from the observer sat are accurate and verified as authentic. Whatever caused these readings put out more energy in a second then every fusion reactor in the solar system did in the last decade. I've triangulated the readings and they came from a region of space approximately five-hundred AU outside the orbit of Pluto."

Studying the readings for a few more seconds Elizabeth made a decision. "Wake the commander."

* * *

_UNSC Zephyr_

_Approaching Event Location, Near Sedna Orbital Path_

_December 30, 2289_

As he stood looking out into the endless blackness of space Captain Donald Evans couldn't help but feel a little uneasy. Here, almost seventy-five billion kilometers from the nearest bastion of human civilization, if one could call the small research outpost on Pluto civilization, they were far, far from help should anything go wrong. Hell it took almost three days for a transmission to reach Pluto's repeater station.

Fortunately nothing major had gone wrong… yet. Mankind still had a lot to learn when it came to building reliable and durable spacecraft.

"Captain?" called his executive officer Commander Harry Scott.

"Yes, Commander?"

"We're almost within scanner range of the disturbance. ETA is ten minutes."

"Understood; helm cut our engines and begin deceleration procedures."

The spindly bulk of the Zephyr quickly rotated a full one hundred and eighty degrees; presenting its massive engine array towards what had been for months 'forward.' The powerful fusion thrusters came to life and with a steady four gees of deceleration slowed the million ton ship to a bare crawl.

"Sir, deceleration procedure successfully completed," reported the commander. "We are within scanner range. Readings are beginning to come in."

Turning to the primary holographic display the captain could make out several blocky forms as they began to take shape. With each pass the Zephyr's sophisticated LIDAR array produced images of greater and greater detail.

"Holy shit," breathed Scott. "Are those what I think they are?"

Finally after several minutes the alien yet frighteningly familiar shapes finally resolved themselves.

"Well commander if you think those are warships then I'll have to agree. Sensors any signs of life?"

"Negative captain. Thermographics show the unknown bogies as dead cold and I'm not detecting any electromagnetic emissions either. I'd say we're looking at a group of derelicts."

"Numbers?"

"Seven intact but there's a lot of debris out there. I'm also seeing what looks like pieces of ships; a hammerhead-shaped section, several nacelles, engine assemblies. Whatever brought them here was none too kind."

"What about the intact ships? Can you see if they're damaged?"

"I'm seeing what I think looks like hull breeches on several of them but we just don't have the resolution at this range to be sure and all that floating junk isn't making my life any easier. If you want a definitive reading we'll have to close to within a thousand kilometers."

The captain considered that. That debris could pose a threat to the entire ship. On the other hand if they took things slow… "Helm proceed to within one thousand kilometers of the nearest intact derelict. Keep our speed below one kilometer per second once we close to within two thousand kilometers. No need to blow a hole in the hull. And ready a comm drone. We need to report this."


	3. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_UNSC Carrier Group Eleven_

_Approaching UNSC Zephyr_

_June 12, 2290_

As he signed his digital signature to the latest of the never ending stream of reports, Admiral George Foster let out a long sigh. He was finally done for the day. Sure the paperwork monster would track him down again tomorrow but for now he'd escaped.

Placing the tablet on his desk, he was rewarded with a barely audible thump of the magnetic backing attaching the small computer to the desk. Releasing the simple seatbelt that kept him tethered to his chair and floating towards his personal washroom, he considered their current mission.

Carrier Group Eleven, led by his flagship, the UNSC George Washington was only a few hours out from the location of the Zephyr and the alien warships. For the past six and a half months the small exploration vessel had been holding station alongside what was increasingly looking like a half-broken down fleet of human warships. This supposition was confirmed a few days after the Zephyr's arrival with the discovery of writing on the nearest and most intact of the vessels. It had said in plain, everyday English: RRV Hyperion.

After that startling discovery, his battle group had been dispatched to secure the site and oversee the recovery of the vessels. Already the thoughts of the technologies those ships contained were giving the brass back at UNSC headquarters wet dreams.

"Admiral to the CDC," announced the duty officer over the intercom.

Moments later Foster floated into the surprisingly spacious room at the heart of the mighty carrier. The Combat Direction Center had been the staple of aircraft carriers going back to the Cold War. From here he could control the actions of every fighter, warship and drone within communications range. It was quite frankly the nerve center of the entire fleet.

"Report."

"We've established real-time communications with the skipper of the Zephyr."

"Good, put him on," smiled the admiral. Honestly he didn't know how these people managed to retain their sanity, stuck out on the ass end of nowhere for more than half a year.

The main holographic display shimmered and the face of a youthful though tired looking man filled the screen. "This is Captain Donald Evans of the Zephyr. Are you ever a sight for sore eyes admiral. Welcome to our little floating junkyard."

"Pleasure to be here. Status?"

"No change since our last report. Everything's cold and quiet. We've been itching to get over there and examine one of those ships but…"

"Don't worry captain. We've got all the men and equipment you could possibly need to recover these things. We'll be within rendezvous range within the hour."

"Looking forward to it admiral; see you when you arrive. UNSC Zephyr out." The image or the young captain disappeared, replaced by the tactical plot of local space. On the distant horizon, still two hundred and eighty thousand kilometers out floated the tag that indicated the location of the survey vessel, seemingly escorted by seven larger blobs of the alien/human warships.

"Ok people. I want a Marine boarding team ready to deploy the second we arrive. Make it happen."

* * *

"All right listen up ladies," bellowed the cheerful yet somehow still frighteningly intimidating voice of Sergeant Horace Malthus. "Seems like we've got ourselves a genuine human fleet but they ain't any of ours. Needless to say the brass are chomping at the bit and we've been designated point men for this little shindig. So we're going to board one of those motherfuckers, take a look around and see what there is to see. No fuck ups and woe betide anyone who crosses me. Am I making myself clear?"

"SIR YES SIR!" chorused the assembled men and women.

"Mm-hmm, damn right I am. Now get your butts in gear. I want everyone assembled in the hanger for deployment in full EVA combat gear by 1300 hours. Dismissed!"

Watching as his people busied themselves, Malthus couldn't help but grin. Sure he drove them hard; any good sergeant did. But they'd been brought aboard because when it came to boarding an unknown or hostile vessel they were hands down the best of the best in the UNSCDF.

Now all that was left to do was the thing that every soldier, regardless of affiliation, hated.

Now they would wait.

* * *

The ventral hanger doors of the Washington slid open silently in the absolute vacuum of space. Unlike the hangers that held the numerous fighter craft, drop-ships launched from bays on the bottom of the massive, whale-like carrier in order to provide them cover from incoming fire. It was a lesson hard learned during the Interplanetary War almost six decades past.

Within the small, blocky and decidedly ugly forms of the Wasp Class drop-ships, the men and women of Easy Company, Second Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment checked their gear over, made small talk and otherwise distracted themselves from the upcoming mission. Any operation in microgravity was always strenuous; possible combat operations even more so.

They were dressed in the bulky and cumbersome armored vacuum suits that the Marine core preferred. While nowhere as bad as the ancient EVA suits that were used aboard the legendary NASA Space Shuttles, they were still heavy, stuffy and limiting. Each of them was armed with a standard load out for boarding operations: a Heckler & Koch G511C carbine assault rifle, a FN Herstal M223 9mm sidearm and a combination of flashbang and concussion grenades.

Checking over his gear one last time, Sergeant Malthus released his combat harness and floated into the drop-ship's small cockpit. With seating for two, for this mission the space was only occupied by a single woman in standard flight suit.

"How're we doing Griffin?" he asked, patting the woman on the shoulder.

Lieutenant Maloney 'Griffin' Munro replied without turning her head from the instrumentation surrounding her. "We're almost there sergeant. I've found what looks like an airlock near the midpoint of the Hyperion's 'neck' and I'm just saddling up to it now. Shouldn't be more than a few minutes."

"Good," replied Malthus, turning back towards his troops. "Alright, we're almost there. We'll be taking this in a soft jump so make sure your thrusters are working. I don't wanna have to come back to rescue your sorry asses."

"Yes sir!" replied the assembled warriors; some mild grumbling heard in the background. A 'soft jump' meant that they would be jumping out the back of the drop-ship instead of docking properly. It was about a dozen times more dangerous and thus margin for error was far smaller.

"Good. Griffin, I'm sealing the bulkhead. Feel free to pump us."

"Oh Sarge, you say the nicest things to us girls don't ya?" replied the cheeky pilot as the aft bay was emptied of atmosphere. The chuckles that passed over the comm made him smile. He may have been a hard-ass but he wasn't above a little self-deprecating humor every now and them. Things were pretty tense on this mission already and anything to relax his men a bit was welcome.

After a few more minutes of near silence, the prevalent red light that filled the compartment turned to a soft green and the aft hatch opened. Malthus had to give the girl credit. Griffin had managed to practically park them on top of the airlock; there being less than two meters between the Wasp's hatch and the hull of the Hyperion beyond.

"Ok people, here we go." With a small puff of his thrusters, Malthus pushed out of the bay, immediately rotating himself so that his feet landed on the scared, pitted hull. With a slight vibration his magnetic books took hold, anchoring him to the damaged form of the Hyperion. Behind and around him more and more of his men followed course until almost sixty of them stood crowded around what looked like a pit in the ship's armor with a large hatch in the center. Behind them floated Griffin's Wasp, the remaining drop-ships holding position a fair distance behind her.

"Griffin, some light if you could," said Malthus over the comm; the powerful spotlights on the drop-ship blazing to life a moment later. "Stepmeyer, what's it look like," he asked, turning to their squad's resident tech geek who'd already striped a panel from the side of the airlock door, examining the innards.

"Looks like a fairly complex security system. Whoever owned this thing didn't want uninvited guests getting aboard. Give me a few minutes."

"Just get going nancy-boy. Marines, setup and guard Stepmeyer until he's done."

"Sure thing, Sarge."

"Okeydokey, sir."

"Stepmeyer needs a babysitter, again?"

"Shut it Lieberman," Malthus growled. "We're all stuck in this shit-fest together; no need to get snappy."

"Sorry Sarge."

Thus they waited, until…"Got it!" Stepmeyer crowed as the hatch slid open with a small leak of atmosphere. When the vapor was gone, Malthus silently motioned everybody forward. They loaded into the airlock and cycled the inner doors open.

Entering the ship proper; Malthus took a small testing kit from one of his numerous pockets. Pressing a small button he was pleased to see the various LEDs all turn green. "Air's good, normal levels of background radiation, no measurable toxins. We have viable life support people," announced as he began shedding his EVA suit.

Taking a deep breath he decoupled his helmet, pulling the bulky thing from his head. Testing the air, Malthus immediately began choking, coughing and sputtering; looks of horror crossing the faces of his companions. After a moment he stopped and grinned. "You guys are complete wussies. Come on people, get out of those things. We have work to do."

With the rest of his men following suit, the sergeant began looking around the space they were in. Given the utilitarian nature of the room and the high ceiling, nearly three decks, this space was obviously designed as a cargo bay of some sort, made all the more obvious by the large hanger doors and copious amounts of cargo pallets floating around where they hadn't been tethered down. Sweeping his light over the sides of the room, Malthus was surprised to see what appeared to be an elevator. Why would they have…? "Wow."

"What is it Sarge?" asked one of the troopers as she floated up behind him.

"Well I can't be sure corporal but I think these people have artificial gravity of some kind."

"But I didn't seen any rotating sec… oh," she replied, realizing what he was talking about a moment later. "Anyway sir, the men are assembled. Ready for your orders."

"Right," he said, turning around to face the assembled group. "We've determined that aside from a few hull breeches in the aft ventral section near what we assume is the engine assembly, this ship is almost completely intact. Our goal will be to secure it top to bottom. Priority targets are the bridge, armory and engineering control room. If we can get the power back on over here it'll make our lives a whole hell of a lot easier. Move out!"

The Marines filed through the open door into the darkened corridor, splitting up into two teams and going fore and aft. Malthus' team headed fore towards what they assumed was the bridge, spitting up into smaller groups as they proceeded further from their insertion point. As they passed empty room after empty room a feeling of dread settled over them.

"Where the hell is everyone?" asked one of the men as they inspected what appeared to be a bar complete with an arcade machine, television and jukebox. It was almost as if the whole place had been abandoned in an instant, the cups and their various liquid contents floating around the room.

"It's like they all disappeared into thin air," replied another.

"Settle down. We don't know what happened and until we do let's keep the speculation to a minimum," interrupted Malthus. That kind of talk would sap morale faster than casualties.

Continuing up the corridor they began to hear a whining sound coming from up ahead, accompanied by an eerie greenish glow. Approaching the room, Malthus inspected the door label and was surprised to see it said 'Laboratory.' Entering the small cylindrical room the Marines quickly located the source of the light coming from several truly alien artifacts. The first appeared to be some sort of crystalline structure that had grown within one of the three sample tanks around the perimeter. The second was an odd, vaguely triangular device floating just above a small pedestal. The whatever-it-was was projecting some sort of holographic image of an inverted teardrop-shaped crystal surrounded by notations written in an alien script.

However it was the third that was the most disturbing. In the center of the room floated a triangular pillar of some sort, covered in numerous glowing blue seams. The device seemed unaffected by the microgravity, perfectly aligned perpendicular to the main axis of the ship. It even seemed to be humming a bit and Malthus could swear he could feel an itching, for lack of a better description within his head.

"What the hell are these things Sarge?"

"I don't know. Malthus to all other teams," he said into his comm. "Has anyone encountered anything that doesn't seem to belong on this ship?"

"This is team three. We've entered another cargo bay, larger than the one we came in through. The whole room is filled to the brim with some sort of combat craft and they sure as hell don't look like anything else aboard this hulk. There are fighters, mechs, personal armor and to top it off what looks like some sort of airship, at least most of one. It looks like it was brought down by missiles."

Malthus was about to continue when a loud humming sounded all around them. Across the mighty warship lights and consoles began flickering on. The assembled Marines had only a few moments to react before they all plummeted to the ground as the artificial gravity field reestablished itself.

"Stepmeyer to all teams, sorry about that. I didn't realize the gravity would kick on so suddenly."

Malthus just growled at his comm unit. A little warning would've been nice. "You're forgiven nancy-boy. What's your status?"

"I've managed to bring one of the backup reactors online. We have life support, gravity, computers and limited sensors and communications. However it will take me a lot longer to bring the rest of the systems back online and quite frankly I'm not an engineer. I suggest we get a team from the Washington over here ASAP."

"Not until we finish securing the ship. Do what you can to get the maneuvering thrusters and docking systems online," replied Malthus. "If we can get this thing stabilized and away from all this junk it'll make salvage operations far easier."

"Understood Sarge, I'll see what I can do. But you'll still need to stabilize the ship from the bridge. Stepmeyer out."

"You heard the geek. Move out," ordered Malthus. He was just glad to be out of this room. That alien pillar thing was giving him a headache and the partially disassembled android in the alcove was just freaky.

Exiting into the corridor the Marines continued towards what they thought was the bridge, a large room with windows at the very front of the ship. Having spent most of the last year in the zero gravity environments of UNSC stations and warships, the normal one gee of Earth standard gravity was already winding them.

"Malthus to Stepmeyer."

"Stepmeyer here sir. I haven't managed to restore attitude control yet."

"Never mind that for the moment. You said you've got control over the artificial gravity right?"

"As well as the rest of the environmental controls yes sir," replied the tech in a confused tone.

"Any way you could reduce it to Luna norm? We're starting to get a little winded up here." Malthus didn't like admitting weakness but making his men stuffer because of his own pride wasn't a good idea either.

"Sure sir, hold on a sec." A few moments passed before a wave of disorientation swept over the assembled Marines. When it passed it was like the better part of a hundred pounds had been lifted from their shoulders. "Better sir?"

"Much, Malthus out," replied the sergeant with a sigh of relief. "Ok people, no more slacking off. Let's find the bridge."

They continued in silence for a few more moments. Fortunately with the restored power the doors were able to open automatically. Finally after almost ten minutes and several wrong turns they came to an unusually thick door with a hologram proclaiming 'Bridge' hovering above it. "Looks like we found it," commented one of the troops as Malthus tapped a button on the bulkhead surrounding what could only be a blast door. Slowly to massive sheets of Neosteel groaned and opened revealing another room.

They slowly entered, sweeping their weapons around the space searching for any hidden threats. Finding none, Malthus lowered his rifle and took a good look around. The bridge of the Hyperion was surprisingly ornate for a warship with golden decorations covering the bulkheads and the large holo-tank on the lower level. Wolf heads looked down on them at regular intervals from around the top of the room and the three large windows offered an awe-inspiring view of the surrounding derelicts and the Washington battle group beyond.

Walking up to the upper level and examining one of the consoles, Malthus found himself impressed. Apparently he'd stumbled onto the tactical station. If what he saw he was accurate, this ship alone could chew through half the UNSC fleet by itself with ease.

"Sarge, these guys must've been complete idiots," commented one of the Marines.

"What makes you say that Jankowitz?"

"Well sir, who the hell would be stupid enough to place a warship's bridge near the hull? Even if that glass is some sort of armored transparent super-metal, all it'd take is a single lucky shot to decapitate the Hyperion's entire command structure."

"Well whatever, just keep your weapons safetied and we'll be ok," replied the sergeant. "Malthus to all teams. Any contacts?"

"Team one here. Negative contact sir. We've secured what looks to be the primary armory. You should see all the ground vehicles they have down here sir. Love to take them for a drive."

"Team two, no contacts. We've secured the hanger sections. Lots of fighters and other aircraft but not even a mouse is alive down here."

"Team three. Engineering section secure. No contacts."

"Team four. Crew section secure. No signs of life but there's a lot of black ash up here. Scans as carbon powder but other than that we have no idea what it is."

"Alright people good work," replied Malthus after the rest of his people checked in. "Griffin do you read me?"

"Five by five Sarge."

"Good, contact the Washington and tell them everything's secure over here. We're going to try to stabilize the ship and move it out of the debris field so we can dock our ships to it properly. And tell them we've got confirmation of alien life out there. Malthus out."


	4. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

_Earth Orbit, Earth Sector_

_July 18, 2290_

If ever there was such a thing as a traffic jam in space, Earth's orbit would qualify. More than three centuries had passed since man first set foot in space and things were growing ever more crowded around humanity's homeworld. Tens of thousands of privately owned space stations orbited the blue jewel; research stations, habitats, business centers, transportation depots and even storage facilities.

The more massive forms of the spaceports, the gigantic circular stations that sat atop the orbital tethers that provided a bridge to space, overshadowing their smaller brethren. Even more massive were the thousands of sky farms, orbital food production facilities that provided more than ninety percent of the grains, fruits and vegetables to the twenty-five billion people that lived on Earth, Luna and the surrounding stations. Above them stood the mammoth forms of the orbital solar collectors, enormous disk shaped satellites that beamed hundreds of gigawatts of energy down to Earth's hungry power grids. Beyond that sitting at the five Lagrangian points were hundreds of structures universally known as 'orbital colonies'. These space-based mega structures housed tens of millions of people within their spinning shells.

And throughout all this flew hundreds of thousands of ships. Some were comparatively tiny transports that served as the space-based versions of taxis, buses and cars. Larger in size and smaller in number were the forms of transports, freighters and interplanetary ships. And guarding over them all were tens of thousands of fighters, drones, satellites and the hundred odd ships of the UNSCDF Home Fleet.

Within all this clutter a strange order existed. Every ship had its place, every station its orbit. Without this order, Earth's orbit would truly become a massive traffic jam. So one can imagine the chaos caused by the unexpected arrival of the _Hyperion_. Admiral Foster and his crew had spent the last month learning the intricacies of the heavily modified Behemoth-class battlecruiser, and had felt, once the 'warp' engines had been properly tested several times, that the use of them to get home was worth the potential risk. However, aside from a few short hops of less than five AU, the bridge crew of the mighty warship was still relatively inexperienced at plotting a warp jump.

With a sigh the admiral looked out the window at the disruption their arrival had caused. Like a stone tossed into a pond, the chaos spread out from their location across the orbit finally terminating almost a hundred thousand kilometers distant. Still, considering that they'd just transited almost five hundred and fifty AU in a few seconds, they'd pretty much arrived where they wanted to be, plus or minus five thousand kilometers. "Good work people," said Foster. "We're in one piece and we didn't hit anything."

He was about to continue when the shrill alarm of a targeting lock interrupted him accompanied by the chime of an incoming transmission. "Admiral, we're being hailed by the carrier Kitty Hawk."

Foster let out another sigh. There would be hell to pay.

* * *

The CDC of the UNSC Kitty Hawk was in an absolute panic. One moment the crew had been sitting at their terminals, casually chatting about the upcoming football season while watching for raiders, pirates and other 'disruptive elements'. The next thing they knew a massive warship had popped out of nowhere, scaring the crap out of anyone within spitting distance.

"Report," ordered the ship's commanding officer, Captain Michael Sokov.

"Sir, we have an unidentified vessel baring zero-two-two mark zero-one-five, distance four thousand eight hundred thirty eight kilometers. No indefinable transponder codes."

Looking at the tactical display, Sokov made the only decision he could. "Order all ships within range to spin up their weapons and acquire targeting locks on the unknown, weapons safe. Ready a hail for the bogy and call the admiral to the bridge."

His orders were carried out in moments. Things had come a long way since the interplanetary war. Back then it would take a warship on average five minutes to prepare itself for combat. These days it took seconds barring launching their fighters.

"What've we got captain," asked Admiral Laura Laurent as she entered the CDC. "And for that matter, what're you doing here and not on the bridge," she continued in a lighter tone. It wasn't like it as unusual for the captain to be in the CDC while the admiral of the carrier was off-duty. Both rooms actually backed each other in the center of the ship.

"We have a massive unknown sitting about forty-eight hundred klicks and change off the battle group. Just popped out of nowhere. Weapons are ready and we're about to hail it."

"Open a channel," ordered the admiral. "Attention unknown vessel, this is the United Nations Space Command carrier Kitty Hawk. You have entered restricted space. Please identify yourself."

Only a few moments passed before a wash of static filled the screen, quickly resolving itself into a familiar face. "This is Admiral Foster onboard the Hyperion. I surrender Bobcat," he grinned to his old wing mate.

"Viper you son of a bitch. Do you know how many heart attacks you just caused?" smiled Laurent as she berated her old friend. "Nice ship."

"Don't get me wrong, the Washington is a fine vessel. Unfortunately it's also almost six hundred AU from here. Anyway, I'm requesting an orbital insertion trajectory for HIGHCOM Facility Bravo-6 in Sydney."

"Rodger that, we're transmitting the data now. I'll meet your shuttle outside to escort you."

Foster just grinned at that. "Whoever said anything about a shuttle? We'll be waiting for you."

A confused look crossed Laurent's face as she thought about that. A moment later her eyes widened to almost comic proportions. "Holy shit," she exclaimed before pushing off the nearest bulkhead in what would be considered a 'mad scramble' in microgravity.

Only a few minutes passed before a small shuttle exited the Kitty Hawk and took up station off the starboard side of the Hyperion. "Laurent to Hyperion, I'm in position."

"Rodger that Bobcat," replied Foster, mirth clear in his voice. "Beginning descent burn now."

The massive form of the Hyperion took off like a shot, its engines spewing streams of plasma and ions forcing Laurent to push the small shuttle to keep up. Only a few minutes passed before the two vessels made it to low orbit, just outside the atmosphere. With a final pulse the two ships shutdown their main drives, switching to secondary propulsion.

As they entered the atmosphere, Laurent was enraptured by the sight before her. Her shuttle was coming in just slightly below the Hyperion and from her vantage point; the massive warship seemed to glow with an almost angelic light as the plasma streamers played over its silver reflective hull. No mobile spacecraft built in human history had ever been as large as the Hyperion and most certainly couldn't land, much less operate in atmosphere.

With the shuttle on autopilot her attention wasn't needed until the final landing sequence. Watching the behemoth outside, she was just in time to see it deploy its anti-gravity system, dozens of armored pods emerging across the ship's ventral surfaces. They began to glow with a calming blue light and to her amazement, the mighty warship decelerated almost as rapidly as an atmospheric fighter. At one thousand meters the Hyperion deployed her landing gear, hundreds upon hundreds of struts locking themselves in preparation for landing.

UNSC HIGHCOM Facility Bravo-6, code named 'The Hive' was for all intents and purposes the center of the United Nations Space Command Defense Forces. Commonly referred to as the 'Underground Pentagon' by the press, the massive facility served as the central command facility for all UNSCDF installations, ships and assets throughout the entirety of the solar system, directing the various subservient CENTCOMs located within each planetary sector. It was here that the heads of the UNSC met and where their most important, non-dangerous research took place.

The facility was located three kilometers beneath what had once been Royal Australian Air Force Base Glenbrook, located just outside Sydney in the Lower Blue Mountain Range. Originally just a small surface base with a helicopter landing pad, the UNSC had transformed it into one of the largest military facilities on the planet. Thirty kilometers of land had been cordoned off and turned into a maze of hangers, landing pads and tarmac capable of accommodating even the most massive of aircraft. Of course nobody expected something the size of the Hyperion to ever be flight capable within an atmosphere, much less able to set down outside an uncontrolled crash. Still there was more than enough room to land the massive warship on a patch of tarmac over two kilometers in diameter; usually used for storing aircraft long term.

Laurent set her shuttle down on a nearby pad and quickly exited, eager to see the Hyperion land with her own two eyes. Looking around she noticed that nearly everyone she could see was doing likewise, some even gaping open mouthed at the sight.

"Admiral," said a voice behind her. Turning, Laurent quickly snapped a sharp salute to the distinguished man standing with his aides watching the show.

"Admiral Bolton sir. What brings you up here?"

"I would think that question would be self-evident," smiled the older man. Admiral Eric Bolton served as chairman of the UNSC Security Committee and only answered to the President, Vice President and Secretary of Defense of the United Earth Government. Sixty-seven years old and born in Chicago, he was known for both his easy going manner and his extreme proficiency in both a strategic and administrative capacity. "Quite a sight eh?"

"Yes sir," Laurent responded before turning back to him a moment later. "You knew."

"We knew Foster was going to bring the Hyperion to Earth. We didn't expect him to show up so close. The orbital traffic disruptions are going to last for days," he sighed. "It's hard to coordinate with someone when it takes the better part of four days for a message to travel one way."

"No kidding," agreed Laurent as the group approached the landed battlecruiser just in time for one of the landing ramps to lower. Approaching the airlock in question, the small grouping of senior officers, escorted by a substantial Marine compliment, waited for the third member of their group to exit. They were rewarded a moment later when the tall, bald form of Admiral Foster exited the hatch escorted by a pair of Marines in full combat armor.

"Admiral Bolton, good to see you again," greeted Foster, shaking his old friend's hand.

"George. It's been too long."

"May I present Marine Sergeant Horace Malthus, who led the boarding team, and Corporal Stepmeyer, who's been serving as the Hyperion's chief engineer."

"A pleasure to meet you, gentlemen," said Bolton, turning to the men in question and receiving textbook perfect salutes. "Well, shall we get this show on the road?"

"One moment sir," replied Malthus, turning to the airlock and letting out a sharp whistle. A moment later two more Marines manhandled a cargo pallet down the ramp, depositing it on the tarmac.

"What's that?" asked Laurent.

"A FTL transceiver," replied Foster with a grin. "We've got another installed on the Washington so we can maintain a real-time transmission with our salvage team. Should make the briefing go far easier."

"Impressive," replied Bolton with a long, low whistle before he turned to one of his aides. "Have our people install it ASAP."

"Yes sir," replied the tech as the admirals and their escorts hopped in a series of jeeps that would take them into the mountain and the access facility for The Hive proper.

Being the center of humanity's military, security was understandably tight throughout the base. But that was nothing when compared to what everyone; even Admiral Bolton had to go through to get into the underground fortress. Layer after layer after layer of security protected the UNSCDF's secrets. Finally after a half hour of retinal scans, DNA checks, fingerprint readers, voiceprints and code words the group made it into the less restrictive environment of the inner hive. While security was still tight it tended to be non-invasive to facilitate the steady and unimpeded flow of information throughout the command facility. It was assumed that if you had gotten this far, you not only had authorization but the trust of the people in charge.

As they entered the central command briefing room they noticed that the rest of the UNSC Security Council was already present as were senior members of the UEG including President Ross. Taking their seats, Bolton began the proceedings.

"Alright, I don't think I need to go over the topic of discussion here. For those of you who are new to the base I'll make the introductions. Everyone should know President Samuel Ross," Bolton began, waving offhandedly to the man in question who smirked. "Vice President Luis Renaldo, Secretary of Defense Leo Seaborne, Admiral Sarah Carter, Chief of Naval Operations, General James McLeod, liaison to the Marine Core and finally Colonel Kira Takahashi, our liaison to the Office of Naval Intelligence. Admiral Foster, I'll turn the meeting over to you."

"Thank you for that admiral," began Foster, nodding to his friend. "I'll make my own introductions. You all know me," he continued, the assembled dignitaries chuckling, "and Admiral Laura Laurent. This is Marine Master Sergeant Horace Malthus who led the initial boarding team onboard the Hyperion and Corporal Adam Stepmeyer who is as close to a chief engineer we have. So without further ado I give you the RRV Hyperion." Entering a command into the terminal before him, Foster brought up a large hologram of the vessel floating above the conference table.

"According to the logs, the Hyperion began its life as a warship under the command of a government called the Terran Confederacy, a power in an area of space known as the Koprulu sector, nearly sixty thousand light-years from Earth. Despite the name the Confederacy had little to nothing to do with Earth in any way, shape or form. Rather, the Confederacy was established by political prisoners outcast from Earth in 2231. It was founded in 2323 and continued until 2500 when it fell to a combination of internal rebellions and external attacks by several alien races. Needless to say this does not track with our historical records, leaving the only logical conclusion being that these vessels originate from an alternate universe and from the future. When we boarded, the ships chronometers were frozen on December 12, 2504.

"The vessel served only a short time under the Confederacy before suffering a major navigational error and crashing on a planet within the territory of a rival to the Confederacy called the Umojan Protectorate. The Umojise methodically upgraded the vessel before it came into the possession of an ally of theirs, a man by the name of Arcturus Mengsk, leader of a rebellion against the Confederacy called the Sons of Korhal. The Hyperion served as his flagship and between 2491 and 2500 during which time he successfully overthrew the Confederacy and founded a successor government called the Terran Dominion.

"Shortly thereafter one of Mengsk's captains, a man by the name of James Raynor, defected due to a combination of factors including Mengsk's use of devices called Psionic Emitters to attract an extremely hostile alien race called to Zerg to the Confederacy's capitol work, Tarsonis. The Zerg proceed to massacre of the population. Mengsk also abandoned Raynor's love to the aliens, a woman by the name of Sarah Kerrigan during the same incident. He quickly formed a group called Raynor's Raiders along with about four hundred other defectors and as their first act they highjacked the Hyperion.

"Over the next four years the Hyperion would be involved in numerous actions, including another major Zerg incursion into Dominion territory and the eventual destruction of one of the Zerg's primary bases on a planet named Char. It was in fact shortly after that battle that the Hyperion and her escorts were flung into our reality."

"Admiral you mentioned this alien race, the Zerg," questioned the president. "According to your initial reports this vessel has significant amounts of alien salvage aboard. Is this salvage Zerg?"

"No sir the salvage belongs to another alien race, the Protoss. According to what we've learned the Protoss and the Zerg are mortal enemies and have been for a long, long time; long before the Terran colonists arrived in the Koprulu Sector. The Zerg are a bioengineered race as are the Protoss. However the Zerg possess no technology and instead are entirely biological, even their weaponry. Some Zerg sub-species even have the ability to travel through space unaided. On the other hand, the Protoss are more like us, requiring technology to fight. That said, the Protoss technologically were to the Terrans the way we are to the Roman Empire.

"As to how the salvage got aboard; most of it was recovered after several victorious battles between Raynor and a group of Protoss religious fanatics called the Tal'darim on a planet called Xil and an abandoned vessel that the Tal'darim had taken residence aboard in deep space. More was recovered after Raynor successfully defended a human colony world called Haven. Apparently the colony had a few colonists infested by the Zerg in captivity and in the view of the Protoss government that was enough to warrant extermination."

"We also discovered another alien artifact aboard the Hyperion created by a race known as the Xel'naga. Apparently in the distant past it was these Xel'naga that created both the Protoss and the Zerg. It appears that the Dominion, during a short alliance with Raynor's Raiders against the Zerg, modified the device into some sort of super weapon. We have no idea how it works and neither did they but apparently it was effective in neutralizing the Zerg's leader, an infested Sarah Kerrigan who was also known as the 'Queen of Blades'."

"So Raynor's actions were dictated by his desire to save his girlfriend?" snorted Seaborne.

"Not entirely. He honestly hated Mengsk and wanted the Dominion to fall as much as he wanted the Confederacy gone. It's just she was a prime motivating factor for him."

"Well, regardless of its history, I think most of us are more interested in the ship itself," interjected Bolton.

"Of course. The Hyperion is a Behemoth Class battlecruiser which was the standard ship of the line employed by the Confederacy around the time of its fall. It has subsequently been replaced by the Hercules class and then the larger, more powerful Minotaur class of which the Hyperion's escorts belong to. That said both the Hercules and the more common Minotaur classes were simple upgrades to the Behemoth and over the years Raynor's Raiders have retrofitted the Hyperion to keep up. In addition, the Hyperion and her escorts possess several prototype technologies that are unique to Raynor's faction developed over the course of the recent war. I'll get to those in a moment but I think I'll start with her weapons.

"The Hyperion relies on laser-based weaponry primarily with missile and particle weapons employed in very specific roles and situations. She possesses rapid-fire gatling style pulse lasers in a CIWS and anti-air role as well as slower-firing but more powerful laser cannons for use in both anti-shipping and air-to-ground roles. In addition she's equipped with missile pods with short range defensive air-to-air missiles, two electromagnetic missile launchers for launching orbital nuclear strikes and her most powerful weapon, a nuclear bomb pumped particle weapon known as a 'Yamato Cannon.'

"Defensively is where things get interesting. In addition to an adaptive or 'smart' electronic warfare system, the Hyperion employs a new, next-generation armor made from a synthetic material known as vanadium in an ablative matrix. This stuff makes our current generation of ship armor look like wet paper in comparison. The ship also employs a technology inspired by the Zerg called Biosteel. Essentially every bulkhead, system, hull and armor plate and every nut, bolt and screw aboard her is swarming with nanites that slowly repair and maintain the ship. According to the research, even if half the ship was blown away, the thing could still repair itself to the point where you'd never know it was damaged, given enough time. Combine that with her automatic fire suppression and repair drones and the Hyperion can take an almost absurd amount of damage and come back fighting without the need of a shipyard or repair facility."

"However her most impressive defensive ability is her Defense Matrix system. It creates an extremely powerful electromagnetic force-field around the ship that can absorb a substantial amount of damage before it fails and has to be recharged. It's power hungry and can only be used sparingly but it's powerful enough to shrug off a nuke if necessary."

"Impressive," commented Bolton. "But what about propulsion? Obviously she possesses some sort of faster than light drive."

"Yes, the Dominion employs a system called a warp drive, in this case a second generation warp drive. As it was explained to me, the drive essentially breaks the laws of physics. Stepmeyer perhaps you could explain it better."

"Yes sir. Well, everyone pretty much understands why we can't go faster than light," began the corporal.

"Yes, the theory of special relativity," commented the president.

"Exactly. The closer you come to the speed of light, the more time dilation you experience. This problem has often been referred to as Einstein's cage and it has kept us trapped in this system for centuries.

"Now when it comes to faster than light travel, there are theoretically two ways to overcome that obstacle; to break out of the cage, as it were. The first involves entering another theoretical realm known as subspace, an under layer of space/time. This is what the Hyperion uses although they refer to it as 'warp space.' When you enter it you 'tunnel' your way through and come out anywhere you want, essentially sidestepping special relativity. A wormhole falls into this category as well as does the work of Shaw and Fujikawa's Translight project. Incidentally I would recommend those two be allowed to complete the research as from what I've heard they are very, very close to creating a functional engine."

"I've reviewed the project," interjected the vice president, "and I agree with your recommendation. Even if we don't end up using their drive it'd be a massive waste to simply terminate their project when they're so close to success."

Stepmeyer smiled at that. He'd actually met Tobias Shaw once and to say he had been impressed was an understatement. "Thank you sir. Anyway, the other theory holds that you could bend or fold space like a piece of paper than cross from one side to another. But no one has determined how to do that yet. It would be theoretically extremely fast, almost instantaneous in fact. But…"

"But that's just a theory," concluded Secretary Seaborne.

"What's the difference between the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight engine and the warp drive?" asked the president.

"While both drives utilize subspace in some form or another, they operate on completely different principles. They enter subspace through different means and employ completely different 'layers' in subspace that are so radically different it's not funny. In addition while the SF Translight engine is theoretically slower it allows much greater maneuvering options while in operation; even theoretically the ability to conduct combat operations while in Slipspace. That is something you cannot hope to do in warp space."

"So it's an inferior drive but is more tactically flexible," concluded Laurent.

"Pretty much yes ma'am," replied Stepmeyer.

"Well I for one support the continued research as well," added Foster. "If we run into someone out there that uses a Translight engine to access Slipspace, I don't like the idea of not knowing what we're dealing with. How long until they intend to conduct a test of the drive?"

"Roughly ten months," replied the SecDef with a shrug. "Most of the work is already done and the funding committed. I don't see the need to deprive two of the smartest people on the planet, not to mention the thousands of others who are involved, of their glory. Not to mention their Nobel Prize."

"What about sublight?" asked Laurent. "Those thrusters don't look like any fusion drive I've ever seen," she said pointing at the Hyperion's engine assembly on the hologram.

"No, the Dominion uses a combination of plasma and ion propulsion. Again, it's far superior to our technology. They employ a magneto-hydrodynamic system to shape the flow of plasma and ion particles to provide thrust. It's considerably more energy efficient which means that their sublight drive doesn't suck up most of the reactor's output and the engines can be pushed well above normal maximum output without putting the main fusion core into overload."

"Impressive, Mister Stepmeyer," said the president. "Now I understand we have a significant amount of military hardware stored aboard as well."

"Yes sir," grinned Malthus. "It's every Marine's wet dream in there. Say what you will about the Dominion, they knew how to make good war toys."

"Tell me more," said General McLeod with a fake dreamy look on his face which caused a round of laughter.

"Well where to begin? We've got several companies worth of powered armor for infantry. CMC-400 'Marine' Powered Combat Suits, CMC-250 'Medic' Support Combat Suits, CMC-660 'Firebat' Heavy Combat Suits which turn their wearers into walking flamethrowers, CMC-670 'Marauder' Armored Infantry Suits for anti-armor duties and CMC-850 'Reaper' Jump Jet Combat Suits. In addition we have a full load of Predator Anti-Infantry Quadruped Assault Mechs, commonly known as 'Cybercats'. Those things will rip through a company of men like the bloody angels of death."

"What about armor?" asked the general, looking over the provided schematics and liking what he was seeing. This armor would make his men damned near invincible.

"Let's see," said Malthus, consulting his tablet. "Um, we have Vulture Hoverbikes which are essentially scouts armed with rocket launchers, Hellion buggies equipped with a turreted flamethrower, Crucio Siege Tanks which can pull double duty as a self-propelled howitzer and a medium tank, Goliath Combat Assault Mechs which were being phased out in favor of the more flexible Viking Transformable Fighter, Diamondback Hovertanks equipped with a pair of railguns, Thor Heavy Combat Assault/Artillery Mechs which are essentially walking harbingers of death and their parent unit, the Odin which is even bigger."

McLeod just looked at the provided schematics with his mouth hanging open. He remained that way for a few moments before recovering. "Damn."

"And aircraft?" asked Laurent, covering for the other man.

"It appears that the Dominion doesn't employ many dedicated aircraft. Instead they seem to prefer hybrid air and space craft. Even their battlecruisers are commonly used as giant flying fortresses in a close air support role. We've got the afore mentioned FS/A-87B Viking which can transform from a general fighter/bomber into a walking assault mech, the CF/A-17G Wraith Air/Space Superiority Interceptor which can cloak, the AH/G-24 Banshee Ground Assault and Suppression Gunship which is the only aircraft incapable of operation in space but can also cloak and the G-226 Medevac Medical Drop-Ship which is referred to among Dominion Marines as a 'heal bus' describing its functions quite well."

"In addition the Hyperion carried a number of TF-670 Raven class drones, unarmed reconnaissance aircraft equipped with various pieces of equipment for differing roles and a pair of Hercules Class Cargo-Ships which have been retrofitted into the mother of all drop-ships."

"It that all?" asked the president after a moment, the room still struggling to assimilate the sheer amount of technology they'd had dumped in their laps. The question caused Malthus to look decidedly uncomfortable, something that set the president ill at ease. "What?"

"We've discovered the equipment and training data for one other type of infantry unit aboard sir…," the sergeant began, trying to organize his thoughts. "It's for a unit called 'Ghosts'. They're essentially special forces commandos but…"

"But what sergeant?" said McLeod. "Spit it out."

"The ghosts employ sophisticated weaponry, cloaking and um… psionics."

The room went dead quiet for a moment before the president asked the obvious question. "Say what?"

"It appears that the Confederacy and the successor Dominion managed to develop practical applications in the fields of telepathy and telekinesis," interjected Foster, relieving his extremely uncomfortable subordinate. "Among their skills is the ability to telepathically control others as well as their ability to hide their, for lack of a better term, psionic signature from others as an extension of their cloaking. What's more, Raynor's Raiders had access to some of the most sophisticated technology the Ghost core ever employed, apparently given to him by a semi-rogue Ghost named Nova. This includes the most sophisticated cloaking armor ever developed as well as state of the art ocular implants."

"How is that possible? Telepathy is something for dime store fortune tellers and gullible hicks," sneered Seaborne. "Now you're telling me not only did this Dominion have technology that not only confirms the legitimacy of those wack-jobs but technology designed to employ those 'skills' in combat?"

"Yes sir," replied Foster. "What's more, according to the logs aboard the Hyperion, these Protoss aliens of theirs were a completely telepathic species whose technology was designed around that fact."

"Unbelievable," muttered the vice president. "This is like something out of science fiction," he said before cracking up. "I can't believe I just said that."

It wasn't long before the whole room was laughing. "We're talking about ships from another reality and it's the telepathy that's what finally broke the camel's back?" snickered President Ross.

"I guess so," the VP replied after a moment. "Any other revelations you want to spring on us?"

"No sir, that about covers it," replied Foster.

"Good. How long until you can bring the rest of the fleet back here so we can get to reverse engineering them?" asked Admiral Carter, a shit-eating grin still plastered across her face.

"Well let's ask the person in charge," replied Foster with a wicked grin as he entered several commands into his terminal. Moments later the rotating schematic of the Hyperion was replaced by the face of Captain Evans of the UNSC Zephyr. "Captain, welcome to UNSC HIGHCOM."

The nervous young man stuttered a moment before beginning. "Good to um, be here, sir."

"Captain Evans is the commander of the Zephyr and is communicating with us in real-time from a distance of over seventy six light hours via the FTL comm aboard the Washington," explained Foster to the shocked dignitaries. "Captain, how goes the salvage operation?"

"We've managed to restore power to the RRV Tychus Findley, RRV Sword of Damocles, DMV Hephaestus and DMV Njord. We're still working on the RRV Persephone and DMV Heimdall. We've also recovered the forward sections of the RRV Liberation and DMV Aegir; engine assemblies off the Liberation, Aegir and the DMV Caesar and warp engine nacelles from the Aegir, RRV Sacrifice and DMV Vanir. Most of the rest is just floating, mangled debris but we're scouring the field for anything useful and storing it in any available space open to us. Fortunately the cargo bays and hangers on most of the intact Minotaurs are more or less empty so we have plenty of room."

"Excellent captain. How much longer do you need? I'm not all that excited about having the eleventh fleet away from their duties in Jupiter Sector," asked Carter with a look of irritation. Without the eleventh only the sixth and eighth covered the third most populous sector in the system.

"We'll need a few more weeks before the Persephone and Heimdall are back online. They suffered extreme damage during the trip here and we're still having problems bringing their reactors back up. By the time they are however we should be finished with our recovery operations."

"Good, your orders are to have the Dominion ships jump to Earth once they're all ready. Once that's complete I want you, as the acting fleet commander to set a course back to Jupiter."

"Yes ma'am, Zephyr out," replied the captain.

"Well I think that covers it then," commented Seaborne before stopping. "Actually there are one or two things you haven't told us. Firstly, what happened to the crews?"

Stepmeyer handled that one. "We think that when the fleet broke orbit from Char and entered warp there was a malfunction or some sort of unexplained event that 'twinned', for lack of a better term, the entire fleet. One set of twins continued on with probably only a bit of turbulence. The other set was tossed through a rip in space/time to our reality. During the trip we believe the entire crew was exposed to intense levels of an unidentified type of radiation that vaporized them and anything else organic aboard. We've been finding an unusual amount of carbon powder aboard that we think is their remains."

"Jesus Christ," replied Seaborne. "I'm sorry I asked. What about these alien artifacts and salvage referenced in your reports?"

"Again, we've determined that almost all of them are of Protoss origin, recovered during and in the wake of several battles. Inside the Hyperion's laboratory we found examples of Protoss Khaydarin and Ihan crystals as well as a Xel'naga artifact of some kind that was modified into an anti-Zerg super weapon. In one of the cargo bays we found a significant quantity of damaged but still functional Protoss military hardware."

"I'm sorry," said the president. "What kind of crystals?"

"Right, sorry sir," replied Stepmeyer sheepishly. "An Ihan crystal is a Protoss memory storage device that allows the author to record their experiences and the subsequent users to experience the author's memories as if they were actually reliving them. The mechanisms behind its functionality are unknown but like most things Protoss it seems to employ psionics. The Khaydarin crystal is actually the combination of several Protoss relics taken over the course of the Raider's actions during the Second Great War. From the logs it appears that the Khaydarin crystals are the key to Protoss technology including their extremely sophisticated understanding of warp technology which they use for not only FTL travel but also for energy distribution and teleportation."

"According to the logs of the Hyperion's chief researcher, a Doctor Egon Stetmann, the crystal seems to possess a primitive intelligence or at least something directing and controlling it. Several times when Dr. Stetmann ran into a dead end in his research, the crystal actively helped him find a solution to a problem by subtly feeding answers directly into his mind. It also appears the crystal has found a way to interface with the Hyperion itself, improving the functionality of various shipboard systems."

"As for the salvage, the inventory indicated that we have examples of the equipment used by Protoss infantry including their Zealot and Dark Templar units, rough equivalents to the Dominion's Marines and Ghosts respectively. Examples of Protoss armor including parts of Colossuses which are giant, walking quadrupeds that look like something outs of War of the Worlds, Immortals which are bipedal mechs roughly equivalent to tanks and Stalkers which serve as their equivalent to the Dominion's Goliaths. Several mostly intact Protoss aircraft were also present including several drone interceptor/attackers from a Protoss Carrier, a lightly armed Scout aircraft, two unarmed Observer units which serve as cloaked UAVs and most remarkably, the forward section of a Protoss Void Ray, essentially their equivalent of a gunship which includes its main weapon assembly which is called a Prismatic Beam array."

"What's the chance of us reverse engineering those things?" asked Admiral Carter is a frown.

"I wouldn't expect any progress anywhere in our lifetimes. Several times throughout his logs, Doctor Stetmann said that, and I quote 'The Protoss are so far beyond us. We must seem amoeboid to them.' That said I don't think we are incapable of reverse engineering the tech, it's just going to take a very long time before we get anywhere near the understanding the Protoss themselves had of their technology."

"Thank you, corporal," said the president. "At least we have a head start. If there's nothing else…," he said, receiving no indications to the contrary, "then I think it's time to bring this meeting to a close. I'd like to remind you all that what was said in this meeting is classified. Thank you for your time."


	5. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

_Normandy Base, Outskirts of New Alexandria_  
_Reach (Eridani II), Epsilon Eridani System_  
_September 24, 2293 – Three Years Later_

Epsilon Eridani II, or was it was more commonly known, Reach was the first true extra-solar colony that humanity had created. Located in the Epsilon Eridani system ten point five light-years from Sol the system was literally on Earth's doorstep. A warp jump of only a few minutes was needed to traverse the previously formidable interstellar gulf, the ninth closest star to Earth's.

After the startling discovery of the Hyperion and her escorts, events had proceeded quickly. With the glut of technical and scientific data recovered from the seven battlecruisers, humanity had moved quickly to exploit the gift that had been dropped into their laps. While undoubtedly more advanced, Dominion technology was actually less sophisticated than they'd expected. Stymied by almost a half century of travel aboard the great carriers and centuries of continuing conflicts, the Terrans of the Koprulu sector had only managed to progress a mere century in terms of technological and scientific development compared to their cousins on their Earth, the United Earth Directorate.

That lag in development meant that the advanced technologies aboard the ships were far, far easier to understand to the twenty-third century humans of this reality. The first major breakthrough had taken place in June of 2291, two and a half months after the successful test of the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine. A team, led by Shaw and Fujikawa ironically, had completed installation the first natively built warp engine aboard the UNSC Icarus. The test was a success, and only three months later the first of the interstellar survey missions had been launched from the Reyes-McLees Shipyards in orbit of Mars' Utopia Planitia region.

A month later when the Epsilon Eridani system was surveyed the second planet had been found to be habitable. While it possessed an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, Epsilon II was an inhospitable planet to human life. However it was also the only planet with a breathable atmosphere within fifteen light-years of Earth and so the monumental task of terraforming it had promptly begun.

It had been a year since that point and in the eyes of First Lieutenant Horace Malthus, much progress had been made. For the past year and a half, ship after ship had arrived carrying colonists eager to escape the crowded Sol System. Already sporting a population of three million and growing, Reach would undoubtedly become the crown jewel of the newly formed Colonial Administration Authority.

Of course as with anything where humanity was concerned, there were always outliers. Pirates and privateers had long been a problem in the Sol System and it was only a matter of time until they spread beyond humanity's cradle. As such the UNSC and UNMC had begun establishing military facilities across Reach's surface, the largest of which was named Normandy Base.

After his successful mission to secure the Hyperion, Malthus had been given a commission and assigned as the head of the new Advanced Weapons Training and Development Division within the UNMC. His job, put simply, was to teach the rest of the Marine Core how to use the equipment aboard the Hyperion and her escorts as well as to work with the scientists to improve upon said equipment. Needless to say this was not the easiest of tasks as, at least in the beginning, he hadn't known a C-14 Impaler gauss rifle from a StimPack.

Still over the years he had muddled his way through and today he was beginning yet another round of training for the snot-nosed rookies, at least in his eyes. After his tutelage they would then spread themselves out and teach their respective men the intricacies of Dominion military hardware, and so on. Horace had found it ironic that he, a simple Lieutenant was responsible for teaching Majors and Colonels how not to fall on their asses when inside a CMC-400 PCS.

A loud roar spilled across the base from behind and Malthus turned to see the G-226 Medevac piloted by Lieutenant Maloney 'Griffin' Munro coming in for a landing on the open field that was soon to be filled with sweating, cursing senior officers making fools of themselves. She was yet another person who had been transferred from the now famous recovery team. Like him, she had been 'appropriated' by the Marine core on detached duty from the navy to train the jarheads in how to fly the temperamental but incredibly important medical drop-ships.

Moving off to great this friend (and occasional lover), Malthus was surprised to see the bald from of Admiral Foster exit the green and tan camouflage patterned aircraft. "Sir, welcome to Reach," he greeted, shaking the older man's hand. "I wasn't aware the Apollo was in the system."

"Well I wish it was a social visit that brought me here LT but unfortunately it's not."

Warning bells were already going off in Malthus' head. "Let me guess, something's gone wrong on one of the colonies?"

"Yeah, LV-426 or Acheron to the locals. It's out in the ass end of nowhere apparently; just an exploration and survey mission with a basic modular base setup. Last transmission reported nothing out of the ordinary, and then nothing. It's probably just a malfunctioning transceiver array but HIGHCOM is worried. It's been almost seventy-two hours so far, and with their equipment load-out they should've restored comms by now."

"You don't think…," began Malthus with a look of fear crossing his grizzled features.

"If it is them… well let's just say that I want your whole company along for the ride," replied the admiral, the same fear etched into his features. "There's nearly thirty-five hundred personnel stationed at that facility. But if it is the Zerg, then this'll be an extermination mission, not a rescue."

"I hope to god it's not them sir," replied Horace after a few moments. Like the rest of the men who'd been responsible for the recovery of the initial seven warships, he'd been sworn to secrecy regarding anything even remotely connected to the aliens, Protoss or Zerg. That Admiral Foster would mention the bugs in a non-secure environment meant that either he had some pretty significant evidence of an alien contact or was very worried that it could be a possibility. He shook his head at the thought; he didn't need to know the details, even knowing this much was bad enough. "We aren't ready sir, not by a long shot. The Dominion had a hard enough time holding the Zerg back and they had a couple dozen core planets and almost a hundred fringe worlds. We only have the Sol system, Reach and a few sparsely populated colonies that barely qualify above outposts, not to mention our technology is, on the whole, almost a century inferior."

"Well I'm going to hope for the best," replied Foster with a nervous grin. "That way, I have something to look forward to." Foster wasn't fooling anybody with that act, least of all the lieutenant, and they both knew it.

Turning back to gaze upon the sprawling base, Malthus nodded. "You and me both sir. I'll get the men ready."

* * *

_Bridge, UNSC Apollo_

_Approaching System LV-426_

_September 30, 2293 – Six Days Later_

The trip to Acheron had taken almost six days. Six days of waiting, of drills and trials and tests. Malthus had spent the time making sure that, should they encounter the Zerg, if they even existed in this reality, that they would be as ready as possible. His men had been pushed to their limits for the first four days before they were allowed to rest. They would need all their strength should the worst come to pass.

For almost a decade, Dominion forces had held the swarm off with the same equipment they now carried. The UNMC would do the same or try to their dying breaths. He'd be damned if Earth ended up like Aiur.

"Lieutenant Malthus, please report to the bridge," came the voice of the Apollo's communications officer over the intercom. Walking through the mighty warship's interior, Malthus took time to admire the clean lines of the Minotaur class battlecruiser. The first of her kind to be built by the UNSC, the battlecruiser had been given to Admiral Foster as a reward for his service. She, along with the six other Minotaur's that had come through the rift and thirteen others built over the past three years represented the current totality of the extra-solar reach of the UNSC.

Entering the command center, Malthus not for the first time, wondered why the shipwrights hadn't relocated the bridge to a more protected position within the hull. Supposedly that was something that would change in the upcoming Titan class, but for now they'd just have to suffer. 'At least they'd installed blast shutters,' he thought.

"Sir, Lieutenant Malthus reporting as ordered," saluted the lieutenant as he approached Foster.

"Good, we're just about to exit warp," replied the admiral, gesturing to the forward viewport and the swirling subspace ether beyond. A moment later a flash of light blotted out the otherworldly blue-green realm, only to be replaced by the tranquil beauty of the stars and the blue disk of a class-M planet below; its space rings reminiscent of Uranus'.

"Sir, we've arrived," announced the helmsman. "Assuming geosynchronous orbit over the survey outpost."

"Comms open a channel," ordered Foster. An affirmative nod from the young woman manning the position came a moment later. "This is Admiral George Foster of the UNSC Battlecruiser Apollo to Acheron Station, please respond." Static and silence was his only reply. "Repeat, this is the UNSC Apollo to Acheron Station, please come in." Nothing. "Sensors, anything you can tell me about what's going on down there?"

The tech in question tapped at his console for a few moments before replying. "No sir. There's some sort of interference covering the settlement. It's unlike any electronic warfare pattern I'm familiar with and it's making getting accurate readings impossible. The best I can tell you is that there is something alive down there but beyond that…," he shrugged.

Growling at the news Foster turned to his head Marine. "Lieutenant, take you men down there and find out what the hell's going on. If you are engaged, use whatever means necessary to protect your people and any survivors."

"Yes sir," replied Malthus with a sharp salute, turning on his heel and heading for the Marine barracks aboard. Things were about to get messy.

* * *

The bumpy ride of the Ares class assault lander signaled that they'd entered the atmosphere. Looking out the view-slits, the lieutenant could see the sleek forms of Viking fighter-bombers, Banshee gunships and Wraith air-superiority fighters flanking the massive lander.

The Ares was a replacement to the truly outdated Hercules class drop-ships that had been stored aboard the Hyperion. The refitted cargo ships had, from a military perspective been completely unsuitable to their task. The UNMC had put out a request for proposals to the various defense contractors that dotted the corporate landscape and six months later Lockheed-Boeing Aerospace had presented the design for a heavy assault lander, well ahead of the expected timetable set by the Marine Core.

Designed to allow the Marines to rapidly deploy to any and all hostile planetary environments, the C-112A Ares could not only carry a company of infantry and up to five siege-tanks, but its unique design also allowed it to snug a Command Center underneath itself, rapidly dropping the retrofitted mining platform and its embarked SCVs onto any suitable piece of land.

Turning from his excellent view of aerial power outside, Malthus began his briefing. "Ok listen up people. We've been sent to this lovely piece of rock to find out what happened to our survey team. We've received no communications from the facility and our sensors are being blinded by some sort of interference so we'll be going in blind. Questions?"

"What's our ROE?"

"This is primarily a search and recovery mission. It might be that the comm blackout is a naturally occurring phenomenon unique to this planet. That said if we come under fire from anyone or anything, you are to defend yourself and your fellow Marines to the best of your ability. I've been training you grunts for the past three years and you are among the best the Marine Core has to offer. Don't let me down!"

"SIR YES SIR!" chorused the assembled men and women.

"One minute out," called the pilot of the lander.

"Rodger that," replied Malthus over the squad's tactical net which currently included the assault lander. "Get ready people!"

The cocking of gauss rifles responded to his order. From below he could feel the hum of vehicle engines powering up, the lower deck of the assault lander making their deployment an infinitely easier endeavor with its roll-on/roll-off loading ramps.

"Touchdown in five, four, three, two, one…," counted the pilot before the massive aircraft practically slammed into the hard ground, the heavily reinforced landing gear taking the abuse in stride; it had been designed to be used as such.

"GO, GO, GO!" bellowed Malthus as his Marines barreled out the aft hatch, their combat suits easily allowing them to absorb the four story drop without injury. Quickly scanning the surrounding environment, Malthus noted the pristine condition of the base structures and the total lack of activity. To his left was the main command center; the large parametric dishes still on their mounts. Directly ahead was a row of barracks, some of which had clearly been modified into living quarters for the facility's civilian population. Next to that stood the Starport, the gargantuan structure surrounded by runways upon which sat empty FS/A-87B Vikings that should've been on patrol. Behind it stood a factory complex and the station's automated refinery which was busy clunking away as it extracted valuable liquids and gasses from below the surface of the rocky planet.

"Area secure lieutenant," reported the one of the squad sergeants, Rodger Hicks.

"Good," replied Malthus as the last of the vehicles disembarked from the lander. Immediately the pair of siege tanks began deploying, their massive cannons ready to rain razor-sharp tungsten flechettes down upon any threat within half a kilometer. The quartet of Vulture hoverbikes quickly moved off, scouting the local area as a pair of Hellion buggies and their single Diamondback hovertank moved into a protective formation around the infantry. "We're starting with the command center. Move it!"

The column of armored humanity quickly formed up and began marching the half kilometer or so towards the massive, sloping mountain of girders, cooling towers and armored plating. While still recognizable as a standard model command post, this one had clearly been refitted and was nearly three times its original size. Malthus doubted the facility's Atlas boosters could even hope to lift the towering monstrosity even an inch off the ground anymore.

"What the hell'd they do to this thing?" asked one of the troopers. "Looks like it's got some sort of metal cancer or something."

"Well they were expecting to be here for a while," replied another. "Makes sense they'd modify it to suit their needs."

"Keep the chatter down," admonished Malthus. "Break into squads. Two through four is to head to the other entrances. Squad one with me," he continued as they approached a large set of doors.

A few minutes later Malthus and his men reached their destination. One of the troopers moved to a panel on the side of the massive, heavy set of doors. "Sir, these doors are locked down tight," reported their squad tech, Corporal Hudson. "They must've cut the controls from inside."

"Anyone else have an open door," queried the LT over the comm. After three variations of 'hell no' he growled. "We don't have time for this. All squads use explosives to break the doors down." A few minutes and a generous helping of shaped explosive charges later, Malthus gave the signal. Four loud bangs and the rending of metal signaled the demise of the vanadium armored doors. "Jenkins, take point."

"Sir," replied the Marine, activating his lighting. The squad moved into the structure and began to see what they'd all unconsciously expected the second they'd set down. Unlike the external hull of the command center, the insides of modern Terran and now UNMC buildings were made out of simple, cheap titanium plating. With only a fraction of the strength of neosteel, much less vanadium the internal armor plating was far easier to damage. The area past the outer doors was a complete and utter mess. Armor plating had been torn from the walls, floors and even ceilings, light panels lay shattered on the ground and wiring and pipes sparked and leaked all over the place.

"What a fucking mess," commented Jenkins, sweeping his rifle mounted flashlight over a series of shredded wall panels. "Wonder what happened?"

"Keep moving," replied Malthus, finding the sight unsettling to say the least. Further down the corridor was another door leading into the facility proper. Fortunately this one was still powered and opened as they approached. The stygian blackness that filled the facility was occasionally interrupted by red emergency lighting. Eventually they came to the first sign of combat, the pockmarks from a conventional assault rifle pitting one of the walls and above ceiling as if whoever had been firing had been knocked down mid fight. Further on was the carbon scoring from what looked to be a jury-rigged flame thrower and the embedded shrapnel of fragmentation grenades. "All squads report. Has anyone encountered any survivors?" he asked over the comm.

"Squad two here. We've entered through the main vehicle bay but haven't found anything alive. Evidence of a massive fight and a lot of blood but no survivors."

"Three here sir, nothing yet."

"Four here, we're approaching the reactor core. Looks like the crew tried to keep whatever it was out. I've got enough shell casings down here that if you melted them down you could make another Lady Liberty."

"Continue investigating and report anything unusual immediately. Malthus out." Where the hell was everybody? "We're moving to the command center."

Jenkins raised his rifle and resumed point. After a moment he held his fist up signaling a halt and reported, "Sir, I've got faint movement!"

"Where?"

"About thirty meters ahead, coming from one of the rooms on the right."

Malthus triggered his motion tracker and sure enough a small blob of yellow appeared on the mini-map in the corner of his HUD. "Everyone be careful," he ordered motioning Jenkins to continue forward.

Malthus lagged behind a bit, allowing his sensors to record some of the more extensive bits of damage for analysis later. He passed an office, its doors ripped out of its frame. Peeking inside he could see the room's simple metal desk had been overturned, papers and a notebook computer lying scattered across the floor, covered in blood; a lot of blood. Whatever had been responsible for the grizzly scene had removed the corpse, a wide streak trailing out into the corridor from where it had been dragged away.

Approaching the target room, Malthus paused to examine a massive hole in the floor just shy of the door itself; one of the few that had remained intact. Whatever had caused it appeared to have eaten through the metal, the sides of the breech looking rounded and melted. "Acid," he noted to his troops. "Wouldn't like to go up against whatever weapon did this."

"I've never seen acid that could do that," Jenkins commented. "At least not quickly enough to be practical in a combat situation."

"Neither have I corporal but I'm sure that's what did this. Let's keep going."

Stacking up beside the entrance, Malthus nodded to Jenkins who tapped the door panel. The hatch slid open and the Marines rushed the room. However while their motion trackers continued to register, there was nothing moving that they could see. "Anything?"

After a moment one of the troopers swore. "Shit it's a fucking hamster wheel sir."

Malthus snorted and grinned, approaching the small, furry animal. He had to admit, the hamster was cute, chibbering up at them curiously. He reached into the cage, offered the rodent a pellet of food from its dish, scooped it up and put it into one of his empty chest compartments. "Look at it this way private. It could've been whatever melted the hole in the floor outside."

"Whoopee," the trooper in question snorted as they exited the room. "I feel so lucky."

Malthus just shook his head at the Marine's sarcasm. "Alright people, let's get the hell out of here and find the damned CIC."

* * *

Malthus leaned on the holo-table in the CIC and let out a long, slow sigh. "You mean to tell me that thirty five hundred people just vanished into thin air?"

"Yes sir I do," commented Hudson. "Look, I've scanned the whole facility. Aside from your furry friend over there and us, there's nothing alive in this entire command center. No thermal readings, nothing on the cameras, nothing on the seismic sensors, nada."

Sergeant Hicks, who had been standing by silently, spoke up now. "Hudson, tone it down. What do we do, Lieutenant?"

Malthus grimaced at that. It was looking more and more likely that something had killed the colonists and the implications of that were unpleasant. If the colonists could not be found using the internal sensors then it meant that they had either fled into the 'wilderness' beyond this camp, which was doubtful especially considering the shape of the facility here, or… "We can't just assume that they're dead. Marines, I want every inch of this camp searched over, they might be—"

"Sir, if I might make a suggestion."

"What is it, Hudson?" Malthus sighed as he rubbed his eyes.

"Well sir if they had to go somewhere why not the refinery? Those things are about as well armored as this place and would make a hell of a backup defensive position. Plus it still has power which would be extremely attractive to freaked-out civvies."

"Good point. Okay people, change of plans," announced the lieutenant over the comm. "All forces are to converge on the refinery. We'll search there first then move on to the barracks and other buildings if we don't find anything. All vehicles are to remain stationed outside the primary entrance to provide fire support in case we run into something down there and have to get out fast. Let's move."

* * *

The refinery was a smaller building than the Command Center, but not by much. It loomed over their heads, the loud mechanical clunking booming around them as its massive hydraulic pumps pulled valuable resources up for refining. If anything it reminded Malthus of some futuristic version of the oil well pumps he'd seen in a museum during his childhood.

"Get that door open," Malthus barked, not receiving a reply. "Hey HUDSON! DOOR! NOW!"

"Yes sir," Hudson muttered apologetically as he began typing commands into his arm mounted computer, working to override the lockouts.

"The suspense is killing me," Hicks said to Malthus.

"Yeah, tell me about it. Thousands of colonists and they've frickin' vanished. Not damn likely."

Hudson walked up after a few moments. "Sorry sir, the door controls have been… melted I think by some more of that acid crap."

"Again with the malfunctioning doors. Fine, we do this the hard way. Get some more charges up."

The squad's demolitions expert made quick work of the door, as no less than a half dozen of the three inch charges were placed around the periphery of the portal. "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" she shouted, and triggered the detonator. A blast of white-hot fire erupted and the two slabs of vanadium flew inwards along with a good chunk of the surrounding wall, a gaping thirty-foot hole opened for passage.

"Maybe they should make the charges smaller next time," Malthus muttered as he got up from where he'd been tipped over, snorting as he spied the shit-eating grin on the demo's face.

"Don't worry, I'll be having words with her later sir," Hicks said. "Move in?"

"Yeah but keep an eye out; the personnel may be slightly twitchy, especially after an explosion like that."

"Got it sir. First, second and third squads move in. Fourth squad stays here to cover out exit."

The Marines shuffled through the cooling wreckage of the front entrance two by two. Beyond the first fifty meter long entranceway the facility devolved into a maze of metal walkways and piping leading through dozens of rooms filled with machinery. First squad led by the ever vigilant Jenkins and followed by Malthus moved quickly but surprisingly quietly into the smoggy darkness, a feeling of dread settling over them. A slight squeak from his chest plate made Malthus realize that the hamster from earlier might be the only survivor of the entire damned outpost.

Jenkins raised his fist again, signaling another halt. "I got movement again!"

"From where corporal?" barked Malthus, the feeling of dead growing stronger as he watched his motion tracker.

"From everywhere sir and whatever they are, there's a shit load of them coming in fast as hell!"

"Where are the other teams?" Malthus quickly asked.

"I don't know si-," began Jenkins before he was cut off by the chatter of weapons fire and screaming coming over the TacNet.

"Shit, double time it people! GO, GO, GO, GO, GO, GO!" bellowed the LT. The squad rounded a corner to find squad three in the middle of absolute chaos. The Marines were fighting some sort of bipedal aliens covered in shiny, black-skin that blended in with the shadows. Whatever they were possessed long arms thick with sinuous muscle, razor sharp claws and glistening fangs. They were sprinting along the walls and ceiling, swarming the embattled Marines and being cut down by the dozens. Yet still they came heedless of casualties. Marines were on the ground screaming as acid from the thing's corpses ate through their armor and melted the flesh and bone beneath.

Malthus opened up with his gauss rifle, eight millimeter depleted uranium tipped armor piercing high explosive rounds scything into the alien hoard, sending his targets flying backwards under the kinetic force of the heavy projectiles, before they detonated from the inside showering the hallway with more of the acidic fluids. Moments later the rest of his squad joined him, spraying fire down the corridor and advancing as the wounded were pulled back out of immediate danger. "Get the wounded out of here Hicks!"

"Yes sir!" the sergeant shouted, dragging a badly wounded soldier who was missing a leg behind their improvised battle line. More screeching came from behind and Hicks was forced to drop the man, a blood curdling scream sounding from his shattered helmet, as he turned and laid down a sustained barrage back the way they'd come. "Sir, we're surrounded!"

"Suppressing fire!" shouted Malthus over the TacNet. "Get ready to pull back the way we came." Slowly, hindered by their wounded the two merged squads began a retreat, leap frogging their way back towards the entrance. Along the way they were joined by the remnants of squad two, their number cut down by a significant amount. Malthus was on his sixth clip and yet the alien swarm refused to end. Letting loose a grenade, the lieutenant was gratified to see the corridor collapse, crushing at least three of the aliens and blocking their advance, at least for the moment.

Malthus was about to turn towards the evac point when the wall to his left split open, something coming out of a vertical shaft, long black tail slamming into his armored shoulder. He staggered back and fired upwards, moving out of the way just as the thing's acidic blood poured down towards where his shoulder had been moments before, melting the floor. The thing's body tumbled down to the deck plating, burning its way deep into the facility below.

"Lieutenant we need to evac now!"

"Rodger that! Back, everyone head towards the entrance!" Continuing to leap-frog their way along the corridor, the Marines eventually came to a melted hole in the wall. Malthus was about to move passed when he noticed the corridor ahead had collapsed. On the other side of the hole lay an empty storage room with a strange black-purple carpet of goo coating the floor and most of the walls. Skirting along the catwalk that ran along the top of the space, Malthus primed another grenade and blew out the wall bypassing the collapsed corridor. "Come on!"

They continued this way for a few more minutes, constantly dodging ambushes from the horrid things. Eventually they came to the entrance, Jenkins and Hicks holding a rear guard while the Marines swarmed out of the rapidly disintegrating facility.

Malthus ran out and immediately stopped cold, staring in disbelief; another Marine almost bowling him over. The area around the front of the refinery was swarming with these things. The Vultures, Hellions and their single Diamondback were slowly retreating backwards, barely holding the hoard at bay while both the Crucio Siege Tanks burned. Their assault lander had taken to the sky and was adding to the fire coming down from the circling Vikings, Banshees and Wraith, dozens of rockets, missiles, auto cannons and laser turrets cutting through the attackers yet only slowing the mass of black down a bit. "Marines!"

As one the hundred or so surviving men and women opened fire, cutting down the black skinned creatures en mass while more of their number held the swarms from the refinery's entrance at bay. Malthus spotted the nearby spaceport with its Vikings sitting on the tarmac and took off. Reaching the landed aircraft he practically summersaulted into the cockpit of the nearest one, running through what had to be the fastest preflight in history as he boosted the transformer into the air.

Triggering the fighter's missiles he began laying down salvo after salvo of Ripwave missiles alongside the other fighters while preparing for a bombing run. Flipping a series of switches, Malthus reconfigured the missiles into smart-bomb mode and locked on to one of the towering cooling veins projecting from the top of the refinery.

"Hicks," he bellowed into his comm, "get our people away from the refinery and onto the lander, and get our flight-authorized men into those Vikings and off the ground! I'm going to take out the nest."

"Rodger that sir!"

Malthus watched as the Marines began forcing their way away through the seething mass, most towards the runway and a handful towards the Viking fighters. Waiting as long as he could, he saw the men begin to file into the large spacecraft and the multi-mode fighters take off from the runway, preserving their valuable hardware. The last trickle of men came from the vehicle crews as they abandoned their machines, and they fled for the safety of the lander.

Seeing this, Malthus judged that he'd waited long enough and fired. Several missiles released from their hard points and with tiny puffs of their engines rocketed straight down the tower's mouths. Malthus hit the afterburners, noting the assault lander had already taken off, and just cleared the shockwave of the refinery explosion. The masses of volatile chemicals ignited at once and the force of their incineration literally shattered the massive structure as well as the surrounding ground for several kilometers.

Coming up behind the Ares, Malthus noted one of the aliens had managed to latch onto the lander unnoticed by the air escort and was clawing at the hull. Triggering his auto cannons, he sent a salvo of thirty millimeter rounds into the thing's shiny black form, ripping it apart.

"Thanks for that lieutenant," came the voice of the relieved pilot.

"Never mind that, we need to get back to the Apollo ASAP," he replied, boosting for orbit, the flaming remains of Acheron station behind him. The Viking fighters from the facility flew up alongside him in escort positions, though it wasn't warranted. "This shit just got real."


	6. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

_Orbital Station Liberty, Earth Sector_  
_January 4, 2294_

Captain Malthus limped his way towards a nearby balcony overlooking a three story tall viewport, beyond which lay the blue jewel of Earth. His leg had been exposed to the acidic blood of one of the alien attackers during the last mission and had yet to completely heal. Up until New Year's Day, three days earlier he'd been stuck in a military hospital bored out of his mind and incapable of walking. While the doctors had had merry old time with his limb, they'd eventually concluded that, despite the miracles of modern medicine, it was possible that he'd be stuck using a cane for the rest of his life.

'Heh, aliens,' he snorted in the privacy of his own mind. 'Xenomorphs, that's what I heard the scientists are calling them these days.' In the intervening three months, quite a few things had begun to change. Acheron had been quarantined, a major fleet presence of no less than five battlecruisers having taken up orbital over-watch. Flight after flight of Ares assault landers had deposited almost a full battalion on the planet's surface, followed by hundreds of scientists to study what remained of both the aliens and the rest of Acheron station.

It had been the Xenomorphs that had been responsible for the damage to the command center, not that Malthus and his men had needed that confirmation. One look at the black monstrosities and three seconds of thought on the subject had been more than enough for them. Evidently the aliens had more or less massacred the outpost's population. Massive caves had been found deep below the remains of the refinery complex; scorched, blackened and half collapsed from the explosion. Inside the caves had been the remains of the colonists along with what the geeks were calling 'face-huggers' that had punched their way through the poor bastard's rib cages to lay their eggs. Most of the unlucky people had also showed teeth marks on their bones; evidently the colonists had been used as a food source as well.

All around the complex was spread the purple-black pulsating goo that had been termed 'creep'; so named due to the speed at which it spread throughout the refinery complex. Analysis of his and other Marine's sensor data and helmet camera footage had showed that the stuff had been growing up the walls at a rate of almost five millimeters per second. Due to the fact that they'd only found the remains of about two thousand of the colonists, it had been theorized that the remaining men and women had provided the initial biomass to support the creep. The thought sent a shudder down Malthus' spine.

However the biggest prize was the nearly intact corpse of what was believed to be the 'queen' of the aliens, deep underground. It resembled the rest of the Xenomorphs but had a considerable size advantage. From its corpse and the data obtained, it was believed that these creatures maintained a hive-like social structure, much like eusocial insects such as ants of bees.

Stepping onto a nearby tram, Malthus ordered the platform to take him to the station's medical facility. As one of the most important and the senior-most survivor of the engagement, he was, unfortunately considered the 'expert' when it came to these things. Today he was to oversee an autopsy of the recovered queen's corpse, something he most definitely wasn't looking forward to.

Stepping off the tram he was met by his longtime friend, Admiral Foster. "Good to see ya again sir."

"You too Horace. How're you doing?"

"All in all not too bad," he replied, obfuscating the truth. After the mission he had been placed on 'extended leave', the military's way of saying that while they still had a place for him, it was unlikely he'd ever see combat on the frontlines again. Really though, the same could be said for most of the rest of the Acheron survivors. Being attacked by aliens wasn't something that had happened regularly in the history of the UNSC or the UNMC and he knew full well that they were all under extensive psychiatric evaluation at all times for signs of developing problems.

Malthus had taken it as well as could be expected, especially given the losses his command had suffered. He'd set down with almost four hundred men, including the vehicle and airborne crews. He'd left with just over one hundred. Among the greatest casualties were the Marines of third squad. Of the eighty in that unit, only seventeen had lived to see the next day and of those, only eight came out of it without a permanent debilitating injury.

"It'll get better captain, you'll see," replied the older man, patting his friend on the shoulder.

"I'm not sure I want it to," Malthus replied with a shrug as the two men entered the quarantine section. They were met by Admiral Bolton and a second man that, while he had never met him, was clearly ONI. Great. "Captain Horace Malthus reporting as ordered sirs," he saluted as best he could.

"Thank you for coming in your current condition," replied Bolton. "First of all I'd like to introduce Admiral Tom Evans, director of the Office of Naval Intelligence."

"Sir," replied Malthus politely.

"Good to meet you captain," said Evans politely. "Hell of a thing you did down there."

"I survived. A lot of others didn't."

"And their sacrifices will be remembered," interjected Bolton. "Thanks to them we were able to recover intelligence on a new alien threat and their relation to another."

That stopped Malthus cold. Another alien threat… "The Zerg," he said after a moment, eyes wide.

"Yes, we found this approximately ten clicks south of the Acheron colony," Evans continued, handing over a tablet. "You didn't discover it during your mission because the area was covered in a heavy fog and because you came in on a different vector."

"A Zerg Sac, their version of a reentry capsule," commented Malthus, studying the hideous mass of flesh and tentacles. "I don't understand. The Xenomorphs were bad but they weren't the Zerg."

"Intel has come to the conclusion that the Zerg and the Xenomorphs are somehow related. In fact we believe that this Sac is how the Xenomorphs came to Acheron initially; a supposition backed up by what little data remained intact enough for your team to extract from the command center's computers."

"If that's true, and the Zerg had somehow assimilated the Xenomorphs…," trailed the captain, a look of horror crossing his face. "Good god, this was a probe."

"Got it in one," commented Bolton. "This methodology would certainly be in keeping with recorded Zerg tactics. Send in a long range probe, soften up the target either through direct engagement or infestation and then send a message back home letting the main force know that the door is open. If this is what was really going on, on Acheron then it can't be long until the swarm shows up. We don't actually know if one will show up at all as it's possible that the Xenomorph infestation was eliminated before they could report back to their masters on our presence there. Regardless, it is the declarative policy of the United Earth Government and all its subsidiary branches that we cannot afford to assume otherwise."

"Nice speech," snorted Foster, grinning at his commander.

"I thought so," replied Bolton. "Anyway, let's get this over with."

The four men passed into the ward proper, through several layers of security. Along the way they were met by Doctor Julius Vinci, an expert in the newly emerging field of xeno-biology. "Welcome gentlemen," he began. "This way, we've got everything ready."

The four were led to an observation theater overlooking an operating room. In the center of the facility laid the hulking form of the Xenomorph queen, its outer skin charred in places from the explosion but otherwise intact. Taking their seats, they only had to wait a few minutes for the doctor to enter the room below, having dawned medical garb along the way.

"To begin, we've already conducted a series of extensive scans on the subject. They revealed that this creature, which we've officially termed Internicivus Raptus, is primarily a predator, and a highly evolved one at that. The specimen's brain is actually larger than one of ours, though of course this does not denote a higher level of intelligence. We've also taken samples from the creature and we believe it's cold-blooded. This would explain the difficulty that infrared sensors have in detecting its presence."

"Doctor," commented Bolton after a moment, "is it true that this creature's blood is as acidic as we've come to believe?"

"Not directly," replied Vinci. "From samples taken we believe that the creature's blood only becomes acidic once it leaves the body due to a series of enzymes and the presence of oxygen in the surrounding air. Indeed acidic blood is quite impossible as complex molecular chains would be destroyed by such a factor, rendering biological functionality impossible. We've also determined that the creature's skin and internal organs are quite resistant to acids, otherwise a small injury would cause its blood to destroy its own body."

"As such, we'll be conducting this autopsy using a robotic auto-surgeon, hence the lack of assistants in here," the doctor said, sitting down at a workstation. "Here we go."

Below, a series of robotic arms swung up from below the table, the center-most one cutting a deep incision into the creature's chest. Along the cut, the queen's blood boiled and frothed. "Good thing we have excellent ventilation," commented Vinci after a few seconds. "The stench of this stuff is pretty strong however." The robot quickly broke and removed the creature's frontal ribcage, exposing its internal organs. "What you see gentlemen is the creature's primary internal organs. They are remarkably similar to our own actually; heart, lungs, liver, spleen, kidneys, stomach and digestive track. I was expecting them to be quite different considering the drastic differences between our species."

Above, Bolton and Foster were trying their best not to throw-up. Malthus had tightened his jaw at the sight and Evans had an almost maniacal grin on his face. "Doctor," commented the head of the UNSC after a moment. "Perhaps this wasn't a good idea."

"Hmm," replied the biologist, looking up to see the pale shade of green covering the man's face. "Oh, my apologies admiral. Sometimes I forget that this kind of image can be disturbing. I can complete the autopsy and summarize my findings in a report."

"Please do so," he replied getting up and turning away from the gruesome sight.

"If you don't mind sir, I think I'll remain to observe this procedure," commented Evans.

"Whatever you want," replied Bolton as he exited, followed by Foster and Malthus.

As they left the could hear Vinci continue on for his reduced audience. "I'm going to take several samples of the internal organs and feed them into a DNA analyzer to begin mapping Raptus' genetic..."

The threesome entered the corridor and just rested for a moment. "Jesus, how can you stand that kind of image Horace," asked Foster, incredulous at Malthus' lack of visible response.

"You get used to it unfortunately sir," he replied. "Although I don't know if that's a good thing or not. I will say that the first time I saw a sight like that my reaction was much like your own."

"What worries me is the lack of reaction Evans had," continued Bolton, the three heading for the nearest elevator.

"Didn't he come up through special forces?" asked Foster.

"That could explain it. I'm sure he's seen far worse in his time," replied Bolton. "Well regardless of our colleague's reactions or lack thereof, the autopsy wasn't the only reason I called you here Captain. As of now I'm reassigning you to ONI section three."

"Sir?" asked Malthus surprised.

"We need to develop countermeasures to the Xenomorphs and the Zerg, and we need to do so as quietly as possible. The news of the massacre on Acheron has already made it into the press but it's being reported that local wildlife was responsible. If people find out about the Zerg or the rest, panic will be the least of our worries."

"And section three specializes in covert research," continued Malthus with a nod of understanding. He'd had dealings with them before.

"Yes. I'm also promoting you to the rank of major. It's already been cleared with the commandant of the Marine Corps and she fully approves. It'll help you get around some of the inbuilt stupidity that forms within the command structure."

"Sir, I don't know if I'm ready for this."

"I know major but the fact is that you're the only real expert we have on these things."

"And besides Horace," interjected Foster, "this is the best way of honoring your men. By helping to develop countermeasures and tactics for defeating these SOBs, you can make sure another disaster like Acheron never happens again."

Turning to a nearby window, Major Horace Malthus stared long and hard at the planet below. Despite his hesitation, Foster was right. This was the best way to honor the memories of the men and women that had died. And beyond anything else he knew he would give anything, even his life to protect the people outside from anything and everything that could threaten them.

"Understood sirs. I'll do what it takes."


	7. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

_No one in those early times could've believed that the multitude of seething, bustling worlds of man could've drawn the attention of an intelligence that was so much greater in scope than any one man. An intelligence so great as to be considered a god yet still as mortal and fragile as any other life. It watched as men and women busied themselves amongst their various paltry concerns, as our worlds spun in their dizzying orbits. It scrutinized and studied us as a researcher would scrutinize and study the transient creatures that swam in a drop of water under a microscope._

_With infinite complacency and boundless arrogance, humanity went to and fro, spreading ever further outwards; serene in our assurance of our might over matter and empire. Is it possible that the strain of influenza under the microscope does the same? Does it swim to and fro unknowing and uncaring for the others around it? Few among our race gave thought to the unknown worlds beyond our borders, of the dangers that lurked between the stars. Decade after decade passed with no signs of intelligent life beyond our own and the thought of something that could challenge our domain was considered ludicrous. It is curious to recall the thoughts that were so common in those days, the naiveté we lived in when aliens were the stuff of science fiction, not something you ran into walking down the street._

_Still there were those who knew, who prepared us for the eventually change that had to come one day. Across the vast gulf of space, minds that were to our own what ours is to that of a beast, intellects vast and cold and uncompromising regarded what we had built with envious eyes, hungry and greedy. And slowly and surely these minds drew their plans against us, confident in their superiority._

_At the close of the twenty-fifth century they came. And the great disillusionment, a terrible and bitter blow to the human psyche would prove to be nothing compared to what was to come._

_- The Dawn of Fire, BBC Documentary. July 23, 2593.

* * *

_

_Harvest, Epsilon Indi System_  
_July 4, 2492_

Private James Sullivan leaned against his Carrion hoverbike watching the sun set over Harvest's distant horizon. The sight reminded him of similar views on Proxima III, his homeworld. Having grown up on a farm, he could appreciate nature in a way that many of his fellow Marines raised in the super-metropolises that dotted the more heavily industrialized colonies couldn't. He'd been lucky that he was able to convince his CO to allow him this patrol route although he was almost completely sure the Sarge knew he would stop for a few minutes each day and didn't really mind.

Sighing, he remounted his bike, resuming his patrol of the outskirts of Armon Base. One of the sprawling Planetary Defense Installations that dotted every world under the Terran Commonwealth, Armon was designed to cover a significant amount of terrain from airborne or orbital assault. Armed with surface-to-orbit ion pulse cannons, mass drivers and hundreds of electromagnetic missile silos and defended by both an extremely heavy shield generator and a point defense grid that was the very definition of overkill, the average PDI could lay waste to a small fleet all by itself. Combined with the five other PDIs spread across the surface of the small planet, the manned Orbital Defense Platforms and hundreds of automated defense satellites an enemy would lose a decent sized fleet even making orbit, never mind achieving orbital supremacy and invading. One might consider that to be far more than a simple agri-world like Harvest could possibly need but evidently the Terran Commonwealth Space Command disagreed.

Personally Sullivan thought the brass were being paranoid. Aside from the incident on Acheron over two hundred years earlier and a trio of encounters with the Xenomorphs fifty years ago on Beta Trianguli II, both encounters that he'd learned about in high school, there had been no confirmed alien contacts at all. Yet year after year the TCSC and the TCMC continually expanded, training for the day that aliens would attack, a day that never quite seemed so arrive.

Information on the Protoss and the Zerg had become common knowledge over a century earlier; hell, a good chunk of modern human technology was reverse engineered from the Protoss salvage found aboard the legendary Hyperion. But that ship was from an alternate reality and nothing anyone knew of showed evidence that they existed in this reality.

Regardless, Sullivan was just a grunt. He'd signed up for a standard five year hitch for the adventure before he went to college. So far it'd been pretty boring to tell the truth, only the occasional raider or pirate to take care of. Still the military paid well, even for privates and he'd do his duty. And like a good Marine, he'd bitch about it the whole time.

"Hey Sullie!" called a voice as another hoverbike pulled up alongside his.

"Murdock, what're you doing out here?"

"Something wrong with your radio?" asked the other Marine.

Shrugging, Sullivan accessed that function on his HUD and switched his comm back on. "Not anymore."

"Good. Get back to base; I'm taking over your shift. The Sarge wants you for something special," continued the slightly older man with a grin.

"Oh hell, that's never a good sign," replied James as he banked away. "See ya." Banking off, he wove his Carrion through the dense forest that surrounded the defense base, the agile vehicle easily weaving around the dense foliage at speeds that could conservatively be called dangerous. The forest stopped about a kilometer short of Armon, the foliage having been removed to keep the area around the base easy to defend. James shot through one of the gates that provided access to the facility. The wall, ten story tall cylinder composed of solid neutron-reinforced vanadium surrounded the central complex like the Coliseum of old Rome. Parking his bike in the hanger, he double-timed it to his superior's office, grinning when he heard the muffled grunts through the door, knocking after a moment.

"Yeah, come in," replied the voice of Sargent David Cameron as he finished putting on his combat hard suit. The modern Trident series of Marine armor was infinitely less complex to don that the ancient powered combat suits that the Dominion and the like had used. Smaller, slimmer and lighter, the Trident was none the less far more capable of protecting its wearer against harm that its ancestors. Still, the Sarge could make even the simplest tasks looks Herculean in nature. Sullivan waited patiently as the old man finished struggling and cursing at his armor.

Finishing with his labor, Cameron turned to his subordinate, shrugging as his helmet unfolded from the thickened collar of the armor and surrounded his head. "Outside Sullivan, we've got a 'special' assignment today. Well I and two of my squads do and I want you along with me."

"Sir?"

"You're my best marksman and I want someone who could pick off a flock of seagulls at ten thousand paces with his sidearm for this one."

"Yes sir," grinned the private. He'd actually done that, though not a whole flock, but almost. "Sir, does this have anything to do with our… visitors?"

"Yeah they need some fresh bodies to test their skills against," replied Cameron darkly. "Lucky us."

The grin immediately faded from Sullivan's face, replaced with a pallor that belied his natural tan. He'd heard things about the Spartans, the executors of the TCMC black-ops operations. Supposedly they were like ghosts or something; they lunged from the shadows and then boom… you were dead, like fucking magic. And that was when they were wearing a standard BDU with no weapons. In their armor… yeah, this battle would be very, very, VERY lopsided.

Well at least they had the best medical care available to them. Sullivan had a feeling he'd be needing it soon.

* * *

Doctor Catherine Elizabeth Halsey sat in a small office overlooking the nearby training field, a smirk etched on her face. Below, she could see the best of Armon's Marines being cut down like wheat beneath a combine by her Spartans. She was getting on in years, nearly ninety but considering she was the result of almost two centuries of genetic engineering and the best rejuvenation technology available to mankind, she'd probably live to see her two hundredth birthday and currently looked to be in her early thirties. Regardless of her age, as she watched the closest thing she would probably ever have to children do their deadly dance below she could feel the fire of youth burning in her.

Reaching out with her senses she could feel them, monitoring their progress even without the data displayed on her small notebook computer that sat on the desk. She'd been rated a psionic level six when she was one year old, not exceptional by any means compared to her Spartans but about par for the average human in this day and age. Ordinarily her children would've kept people out of their minds but she was their mother; well as much as any normal human could be.

"It's not polite to spy doctor," came a familiar voice from behind her. Like usual she hadn't felt his approach.

"Hello John, bored already?"

"No, I'm just letting the IIIs have their moment," he replied with an almost feral grin.

"So what do you think?" she asked, as was their ritual during these quiet moments. If there was one Spartan that truly lived up to the name it was John-117. Over time she'd come to trust his opinion above all others.

"You know what I think Catherine," he replied, leaning against a nearby wall, the heavy neo-steel plating groaning under the half ton Mjolnir armor he wore. His helmet lay cradled under his arm, his face youthful and his eyes glowing, almost like those old imaged of the Protoss. "They're good…"

"But as always they could be better," she finished with a sigh. It was an old argument. Each generation of Spartans were engineered to be better than the last but technology couldn't create a perfect soldier she'd come to learn. "Not everyone can be a true Spartan. They may have the raw ability but with the exception of a few not every one of them can live up to your standards."

"They have the raw talent…"

"That's not always enough John and you know it," Halsey interrupted. "Still, any prospects?"

"Maybe Marcus-435 and Aika-718. They seem to push themselves the hardest." John was referring to admittance to his own team, an unofficial group within the Spartan program. While they were all exceptional, the members of 117's team were considered the best, the 'True Spartans'. Very few made that cut, only seven at the moment actually: Samuel-034, William-043, Linda-058, Maria-062, Kelly-087, Grace-093 and Frederic-104, all Spartan IIs. And of course there was John himself, the leader of the Spartan Corps.

"I must say they are impressive doctor," said another voice from the small office's shadows. For her part Catherine jumped at the voice but John just turned his head to the new arrival. "Colonel Andria Weir, head of the local ONI detachment," she continued after a moment, offering her hand to Halsey who promptly, if stiffly shook it.

"I wasn't expecting you colonel," replied the doctor tersely. Technically she worked for ONI Section III which had been transformed by the legendary General Horace Malthus almost two centuries earlier into the premier research and development division of the then-UN Military. In truth she was as close to an independent entity as a civilian could be within the military hierarchy and didn't like interacting more than she had to with the leashed dogs that haunted the organization. "What can I do for you?"

"I was hoping for a quick briefing on the Spartan program straight from the horse's mouth, as it were," replied the other woman with a disarming smile. "Don't worry, I have the necessary clearance."

"I hope so," replied John from behind the woman, her turn to be startled. For a man that was clad in half a ton of armor, the Spartan could be remarkably quiet. "You don't want to know what I've done to people who've lied to the doctor in the past."

Weir was clearly unsettled by that threat. She knew he could probably get away with it too. The Spartan Corps operated as an independent entity within the Commonwealth Military hierarchy. They were above and beside the chain of command in almost all situations except combat itself. If they wanted someone gone they were as good as dead. Realizing it was best to put the super-soldier at ease, she pulled out her ID, the small holographic projector showing her clearance. "Yes well…"

Halsey smirked at the younger woman's discomfort. "Well what do you want to know?"

"I'm curious about the Spartan's origins primarily."

"Oh well in that case," replied Halsey, relaxing. If this woman just wanted a history lesson, that was different. She didn't like ONI butting into her business, especially James Ackerson and his subordinates which clearly this woman was, even given their equal rank. Rank didn't count for much in ONI. "Well it goes back to the GEA signed in 2312."

"The Genetic Engineering Act?" asked Weir with a frown of confusion.

"Yeah, the GEA mandated among other things that all humans within the sphere of control of the UEG register their DNA within a central database. Ostensibly it was to allow scientists to monitor the progress of their efforts in regards to genetic improvements within the human species. But of course it was also used in numerous other ways as well…"

"Law enforcement," commented Weir.

"Eliminating political rivals," countered Halsey. She had a very low opinion of the UEG before its reformation into the Terran Commonwealth. "Regardless, the DNA Registry gave me and my team a huge advantage when Project Orion was initiated. At our fingertips was literally the compete genetic history of humanity dating back almost two centuries. Combined with the data on the Dominion's Ghost program and what little was available on the successor Specter project from the Hyperion, we used that data to create the first eight Spartans, commonly known as the Spartan I Project."

"I don't understand," replied Weir. "There were forty Spartan Is weren't there?"

"Yes, five of each DNA sequence. The differences between them were the results of minor modifications to the DNA that is responsible for physical appearance and gender. For all intents and purposes they were identical yet ironically each grew into a completely difference person. Pretty much puts the 'nurture versus nature' argument to rest huh? The Spartan Is are some of the greatest soldiers to ever live and their military records back that up. But for all their prowess they were still completely human," continued Halsey, grinning at John. "The Spartan IIs were different. Tell me colonel, do you know the definition of the word 'transgenic'?"

Weir thought about that for a moment before her eyes widened, shooting a look at John who just smirked in response. "The definition of a transgenic is a plant or animal that has genes from a different, non-compatible species transferred into its own DNA through genetic engineering."

"Exactly," replied Halsey triumphantly. This aspect of her personality was usually quite off-putting to others and many regarded her as a modern day Frankenstein. "It's not that uncommon really. Humans have been absorbing genetic material from other species for a very long time. Hell, since the mid twenty-fourth century when the so-called 'designer baby' generations began there have been people who have adopted everything from unnatural eye and hair colors to aspects of various animals such as fur and tails into their genome. I just took it to the logical extreme."

"The Spartan II program introduced aspects of almost a hundred species of fauna into their already nearly perfect DNA. Everything from the feline ability to see in the dark to the regenerative abilities of a tape-worm. We included improved versions of the DNA responsible for psionic potential too, which led to the Spartan IIs all having a psi rating of at least a high nine. John hear is a low eleven in case your interested. Of course the Spartan IIs also have one particular non-terrestrial species' DNA as part of their own as well…"

Weir's mouth gaped at that. "Xenomorph DNA? Are you insane?"

Halsey just snorted at that. "Considering what those things did to our Marines during their last encounters, it would've been idiotic not to use the DNA of Internicivus Raptus to some degree. Mostly just genetic material that guides their instinctual responses, but we also added a few other aspects as well…"

"Acidic blood for one," interrupted John. "It's actually more of a pain in the ass then you'd think. For example, if you cut yourself shaving and you melt the razor," he continued, shooting a glare at Halsey.

"As well as increased strength, reflexes, stamina, prowess…," continued Halsey, smirking at the Spartan.

"Retractable claws, nictitating membranes in addition to eyelids, sharpened canines…," countered John with a groan.

"Regardless, it led to drastic improvements across the board. But there was a downside to these improvements. John?"

"It's sometime more than we can control. Well most of us," he smirked, shooting a glance to the IIIs outside. "We get into combat and our instincts become so powerful that… well, it's been called blood-rage before. We've had to… well, 'put down' is the best way to describe it I guess, other Spartans in the past."

"I see," replied Weir. Looking at John she asked the one question he hated more than any other. "Was it worth it, then?"

Sighing at that, the Spartan stood, walking to the window and watching his potential recruits wind the exercise down. As usual, no casualties, at least on the Spartan's side. "It is what it is, colonel. If it keeps me alive to fight another day then yes, it was worth it. Still… I sometimes wonder what it would've been like to be a normal human, not this half alien super-soldier I am."

Catherine sighed at that. John could be surprisingly introspective at times. "Well regardless, I trust I've answered your questions colonel?"

"Yeah, thanks for the briefing," the ONI officer hastily replied. Glancing back at the Spartan one last time she beat a hasty retreat out of the room as quickly as was polite. The thought of what lurked within his genome was sending a shiver up and down her spine.

"If I didn't know better I would've thought you enjoyed that," commented Halsey after a moment.

"Scaring ONI meat-bags? Whatever could you possibly mean?" asked the Spartan, a wide grin betraying his feigned ignorance. "Regardless, I think we're almost finished here."

Standing beside her Spartan, Halsey watched as a freighter began its descent towards the nearby city of Utgard, leaving a fiery trail through the atmosphere in its wake. "You think we should leave then?"

"Yeah, I think we've drained this place's talent. They're not going to learn anything else from the locals except for how to get rip roaring drunk." John smiled at that. "That's if the Marines on base have anything to say about it."

Halsey shuddered at that thought. Spartans were dangerous enough when sober. A drunken Spartan in a bar fight… yeah ouch. Besides, alcohol inhibits self-control and the majority of humanity didn't know of her Spartan's other-worldly origins, nor did they need to know. They looked upon the super-soldiers with awe and respect. Even Marines showed them their just due, the honors they'd earned putting down pirates and terrorist groups. If they learned about the Raptus in them that respect could disappear to be replaced by disgust and fear. Needless to say that was something that Halsey couldn't and wouldn't tolerate.

"Can't have that," sighed the doctor. "I'll make the arrangements. Where do you think we should be off too next?"

"Maybe Earth," commented John. "The homeworld always seems to have a surplus of veteran troops on hand and they do so try to come up with the most imaginative dirty tricks to throw at us."

Halsey laughed at that. Surprising a Spartan in combat wasn't exactly an easy task. "That's their job John. Nobody ever said that the members of Terran Commonwealth Marine Corps are slackers at their jobs."

"True," commented John, turning to the comparatively small woman beside him. Reaching out through his psionic abilities, he sensed her condition and frowned. "You're tired, you should get some sleep."

"I'll be fine. Go and get the team ready to ship out. I'll be along shortly."

"Yes ma'am," he smirked to which she just rolled her eyes. Turning Colonel John-117, still commonly referred to by the nickname 'Master Chief', a rank he hadn't held in almost twenty years, left the office as quietly as he'd entered.

* * *

**Codex Entry - The Terran Commonwealth**

The Terran Commonwealth is the successor to the United Earth Government. A federal republic similar in structure to the former United States of America, the Commonwealth holds power over 832 human colonies as of 2492.

The history of the Commonwealth is a checkered one. The first step to its creation began in 2312, twenty two years after the recovery of the RRV Hyperion and her escorts in the outer Sol System. With access to the advanced medical technology aboard the battlecruisers and especially the extensive knowledge of human genetics contained within their databases, the enhancement of the human body became not only widely possible but also economical. At the urging of the public, the UEG Parliament instituted the Genetic Engineering Act on August 23, 2312. The GEA diverted significant funding to the subsidy of commercial genetic engineering and made pre-natal genetic engineering regiments affordable to almost the entire population.

By the 2370s an estimated ninety percent of the total human population had been exposed to at least some form of genetic enhancement either directly before they were born or generationally through one or both of their parents. As the genetic modifications were dominant, the offspring of an engineered and non-engineered human would result in an engineered child. Among the more public aspects of the GEA was the enhancement of both physical and mental aspects of the human population and the removal of undesirable genetic characteristics such as vulnerabilities to disease, pathogens and the removal of precursors to excessively violent behavior.

However at the urging of the Office of Naval Intelligence, the GEA also introduced genes into the population that increased the numbers of humans with latent psionic potential. By the 2370s it was estimated that at least thirty five percent of the human population had a psionic index rating of four or higher, with almost five percent having a rating of above seven. Under the Terran Dominion, this would've made them eligible for advanced Ghost training.

This program had unfortunate and unforeseen consequences for those in power however. With a psi rating of three or higher, the human brain began to manifest limited empathic capabilities and lying became a much harder endeavor through the majority of human populations throughout known space. As a result, the corruption that had become entrenched within the UEG became more and more obvious. Several media 'exposes' exposing this corruption led to widespread public unrest. In an attempt to quell the public anger, the UEG Parliament resurrected an old idea from the British Commonwealth nations, the Office of the Auditor General. Tasked with rooting out and eliminating inefficiency and corruption, the parliament hoped that the OAG would serve to settle the populous.

The UEG Parliament had believed that they could control the OAG, keeping it in their back pocket. However, the terms under which it was formed were understood only by a few uncorrupted government officials, the rest kept unaware. Within three years, almost half of the UEG Parliament had been exposed and ousted from office, many of whom went on to face trial. Fearing they would lose power, the remaining government officials decided that they would have to take drastic actions to retain their seats. On September 6, 2374 the UEG government declared martial law throughout Earth and the colonies. It would be their last mistake.

Rather than obey the order, the UNSC and the UNMC pulled a coup de tat, removing the majority of the UEG government, including the executive, judicial and most of the legislative branches from power. Only those who had conspired with the military to plan for this eventuality were allowed to retain their seats. For nearly eighteen months, the whole of human society remained firmly under the control of a military junta.

However, unlike many such governments in the past, the military leaders were not interested in power for power's sake. Rather they saw this as the only way to fix the problems that had festered under the UEG. Eighteen months later the Terran Commonwealth came into power coinciding with the resignation of the heads of the UNSC, the UNMC and ONI.

Modern historians agree that the formation of the Commonwealth prevented what could've eventually become a wide-scale insurrection within the outer colonies due to the corruption of the defunct Colonial Administration Authority. Many historians also believe that the reorganization of humanity's sphere of control was one of several factors that ultimately allowed mankind to resist the Zerg, Covenant and Flood so successfully during the Great War.


	8. Chapter Six, Part One

**Chapter Six, Part One**

_Harvest, Epsilon Indi System_

_Orbital Defense Platform Utgard_  
_July 5, 2492_

Commander Robert Sheridan was just coming off shift and was planning to head down to Utgard City for the night. Being in command of an Orbital Defense Platform above a little backwater like Harvest wasn't exactly an illustrious posting. Still he'd been promised that his current position was temporary with a promotion to command of a warship in the near future.

Needless to say when the alarms began blaring just as he was stepping onto a warp transporter platform he knew that his night was about to be shot to hell.

Marching into the stations CIC, he growled, "What the hell is going on? Why are we being put on alert?"

"My apologies commander," replied the station's AI, Egill as he materialized before the irate officer, dressed in classical Norse battle armor. "Sensors have detected at present over three million small contacts emerging from what I've confirmed to be a wormhole into warp space. Winter Contingency has officially been declared by General Suffield as of 20:03 Zulu."

That caused the color to drain from Sheridan's face along with the faces of the surrounding officers and enlisted personnel. The Winter Contingency had been put in place almost two centuries earlier. It meant that a hostile alien force had been detected in system.

"Is it them?"

"Scanning," replied the AI before continuing. "Confirmed. Profiles match Zerg forces. Mutalisks, Brood Lords, Overlords, Overseers and Sacs," pausing for a second Egill continued. "The wormhole has closed. Finally tally is forty-four million, six-hundred thousand, thirty seven contacts."

"My god," replied Sheridan at that. "Launch all strike craft immediately and deploy some Hummingbirds. I want a closer look."

"Yes sir," replied the nearby Air Traffic Control Officer as the station's ready-alert flight of Valkyria class Transformable Fighter-Bombers launched, followed by dozens of Dragon Fly class unmanned combat air vehicles and Hummingbird class unmanned reconnaissance air vehicles. "Alpha squadron has launched. Beta through Tau squadrons are prepping and will be ready for launch beginning in two minutes. All UAVs have launched; ETA to swarm one minute, thirty seconds."

"Good," commented Sheridan, examining the tactical plot projected above the CIC's central holo-table. "Bring up the feed from the lead URAV and ready the station's defenses."

A window appeared showing the blackness of space, its millions of stars twinkling in the distance. Examining the tag at the bottom, Sheridan cross-referenced the feed with the tactical plot and his mouth nearly dropped open. Those weren't stars.

"My god," commented another officer from behind him as tags began flooding the feed indicating individual Zerg units. "There's so many."

"ETA to engagement?" asked the commander.

"The Dragon Flies will reach the swarm first in thirty seconds but…"

"Understood. Well people, we've always known this day could come and we've prepared for this as well as we ever possibly could. Do your jobs, do them well, and we'll get through this intact."

"Sir Yes Sir!" chorused the assembled personnel. And they almost believed it.

* * *

_Alpha Prime, Major Hadaka Seaborne Commanding_

_V/F-223A Valkyria Transformable Fighter-Bomber_  
_ETA to Engagement: One Minute_

"So I said, 'Isn't that still fashionable?' And she said…," joked the voice of Alpha Three over the comm.

"It wasn't funny then Harvey and it isn't funny now," replied Alpha Four with a sigh. "I'm amazed you've ever been out on a date."

"Hey!"

"Alright cut the chatter ladies," interrupted Seaborne. "ETA to engagement four five seconds. Ready your weapons."

Immediately the joking stopped, fighter across the squadron arming their weaponry and raising their shields. In the distance Hadaka could see the flashes of light of the UCAVs engaging the leading Zerg elements. Even with the combined drone forces of three of the six ODPs, numbering over a thousand, the small machines were horrendously outnumbered. Already they'd lost almost half the drones sent against them and it'd barely made a dent in the enemy numbers.

Moments passed and before long the steady tone of a missile lock sounded in his cockpit. Taking a deep breath Seaborne called out, "Fox three!" Two AAGM-1503A 122mm Air-to-Air/Ground Missiles shot from the twin launcher packs on the fighter's back, immediately followed by another pair and another and another until the launchers clicked empty. The twenty four missiles were joined by three hundred and sixty others from the other fifteen fighters in his flight.

Moments later they impacted, their small fusion based warheads blasting gaping holes in the Zerg lines. Hundreds of the horrid monsters died for each explosion but the breeches in their lines quickly filled as thousands more moved forward to fill the gap. A tone chimed in his cockpit informing him that the onboard nano-fabricators had refilled his missile packs and he let fly another salvo erasing even more.

The Zerg, lacking the long range abilities of their enemies, bided their time until the enemy fighters came in range. Acidic globs and razor sharp projectiles crossed with laser pulses, railgun rounds, particle lasers and more missiles as the battle was joined. Hundreds of Zerg died, thousands as Sacs were ripped open and the creatures inside, unprepared for the harshness of space, died screaming as their bodies exploded from the lack of atmospheric pressure.

Smiling as he ripped open another enemy transport, Seaborne was still concerned. They were killing thousands but it was as nothing compared to the enemy numbers, "Utgard, ETA on reinforcements?"

"Beta squadron inbound," replied the station's ATCO. "ETA thirty seconds. Following squadrons every fifteen seconds thereafter."

"Rodger that command. We're a little outnumbered out here," Seaborne finished, downing another dozen Mutalisks. Flying through their remains his shields sizzled and a quick neural command queried his sensors and confirmed what he already believed to be true. "Be advised, the Zerg seem to have adopted at least one unpleasant trait from the Xenomorphs. They have acidic blood."

"Rodger that," replied the voice of Jocelyn Adams, leader of Beta Squadron. Moments later her flight of C/F-186C Lucifer Air/Space Superiority Fighters came screaming in, lasers and thousands of missiles ripping the enemy formations apart. More agile than his birds, the Lucifers were designed for one thing and one thing only: ripping enemy fighters apart.

More and more strike craft came roaring in; Valkyria, Lucifers, Dragon Flies, Corsair Strike Fighters and even Solaris gunships. Still they were horrendously outnumbered and the inevitable finally happened. "This is Tau six, I'm…," a scream cutting off the pilot's final words as his fighter was ripped apart.

"Shit, this isn't going to work," cursed Seaborne as he dodged another salvo of those acid globs from a fight of Mutalisks. "Command, requesting nuclear strike."

"Roger that Alpha Prime. Nukes inboard, evacuate immediately."

"You heard the man, all flights break off."

The tattered wings of strike craft came about, their engines flaring plasma as they reversed their momentum. A moment later a bright streak crossed their lines, followed by an eerie glow from behind them as the first of the nuclear missiles detonated within the enemy lines. Turning off his aft cameras, Seaborne had a moment before the shockwave hit him, threatening to send his small spacecraft out of control. Finally reestablishing his course, he was in time to see more and more missiles streak past followed by dozens of detonations.

The small holes ripped in the swarm by the fighters expanded enormously, the waves of fire and radiation vaporizing the small creatures. More and more died and before long the entirety of the swarm seemed to be occluded by white light and fire.

Still it wasn't enough. "Utgard, you've still got more incoming enemy units. ETA six minutes."

"Roger that Alpha Prime. Head back to the barn. We'll take it from here."

"Understood command. All flights R&R."

"Oh hell yeah, I could use a nap after this," commented an anonymous voice.

Seaborne just snorted. "Not rest and relaxation. Rearm and refuel."

Grinning at the groan that filtered through the comm, Seaborne hit his afterburners. This was turning out to be a hell of a day.

* * *

_Utgard Station_

"Sir, we estimate the fighters and the nukes have destroyed roughly one percent of the enemy force," commented the station's tactical officer.

Sheridan sighed at that. Only four-hundred thousand and change. This was going to be ugly. "Understood, ready our defense grid and our assigned defense satellites. Are we tied in with the rest of the planetary defense network?"

"Yes sir, we have a secure uplink to all planetary defense assets and are ready to coordinate our fire."

"Good. Begin continuous missile salvos at the enemy forces and ready our turrets."

"Yes sir. The Zerg will enter range of our MAC in ten seconds, our Prismatic Beam Arrays in forty, our railguns in two minutes and our CIWS thirty seconds after that."

Sheridan could feel the subtle vertigo of the station rotating beneath him, bringing the massive coilgun at its core into alignment with the oncoming swarm. Beyond he could see the streaks of MPM-1834A Stutterwarp missiles making their brief warp jumps to close with the enemy forces. "Fire our weapons as they come in range. Use anti-Zerg protocols."

"Yes sir," replied the tactical officer just as the massive cannon spoke for the first time in the battle. A twenty metric ton projectile, barely the size of a Warthog LTV, screamed out of the barrel at nearly one fifth the speed of light. Twenty seconds later, just as it was about to impact the leading edge of the swarm it broke apart, releasing millions of razor sharp tungsten shards. Like water breaking over the prow of a ship, the shards shredded an expanding path through tens of thousands of Zerg, sizzling blood and frozen entrails marking their passage.

The cannon spoke again and again, the enemy forces closing relentlessly, heedless of their losses. The massive projectiles were soon joined by hundreds of stuttering blue/white beams of electromagnetic energy from the station's prismatic turrets, then tens of thousands of 155mm gauss rounds from its gatling railguns and finally millions of laser pulses, flak rounds and short range interceptor missiles from its CIWS.

From a distance it looked as if the battle station had turned into a massive lawn sprinkler, each drop a deadly projectile or bolt of energy. Joined by the surrounding defense satellites, strike craft and eventually the other stations as their orbits closed, the orbit of Harvest almost seemed to burn.

And still the Zerg came.

* * *

_Mimir Region, Harvest_

_223km from Utgard City_

Slinging his gauss rifle over his shoulder, the Chief felt the magnetic plate on his back grab the weapon leaving his hands clear. He had been given overall command of the local Marines despite only being a colonel and a simple task: defend Harvest and her citizens to the best of his abilities. Intel believed that the Zerg, if and when they broke through the orbital defense perimeter, would descend on the massive fields of crops that covered most of Edda, Harvest's single super-continent. The Swarm needed biomass, and lots of it, to fuel their military campaigns. If so, containing the Swarm would be next to impossible.

Keeping Fredrick the Great's famous statement that 'He who defends everything defends nothing' foremost in his mind, the Chief had immediately ordered the evacuation of the planet's small population to the two major cities, clearing the civilians from what would soon become fields of creep and Zerg. The planet's population was pretty small, no more than four hundred thousand people. Already they'd received confirmation that an Avalon class colony ship that was inbound to evacuate the civvies, the massive forty kilometer long flying biosphere easily able to house millions of people for extended periods. With its ability to hover and/or land it was perfect for large scale planetary evacuations.

Organizing their defenses around the six PDIs and the planet's small cities of Utgard and Gladsheim, the once pristine fields of grain were now marred by trenches and bunkers, the crops having been burnt to the ground to clear the sightline of the defending soldiers. Still John wasn't foolish enough to believe that he could hold the planet through defensive actions alone and so he was preparing for that other truism of war: 'The best defense is a good offense.'

Behind him were grounded Athena class assault landers. Like the Ares class of old, the Athenas were capable of deploying a massive number of troops and base structures anywhere on the planet within a half hour. Bigger, better defended and far more heavily armed, the Athenas could find and clear a landing zone with an almost frightening efficiency. Watching the frigate-sized spacecraft loading the local forces, John smiled at the sight of an Athena picking up the massive form of a Tyrannosaurus class super-heavy battle tank. They only had a few of the thirty-five meter long monstrosities, but he was sure they would make a good impression on the Zerg invaders.

Accessing the local strategic battle network, John winced at what was projected on his HUD. The orbital defenses were beginning to crumble; soon holes would begin to open allowing the invaders a clear path into the atmosphere. In the distance the ion cannons and mass drivers of Armon PDI could be seen firing, sending yet another salvo of contact nukes and bolts of ionizing radiation into the seething mass of Zerg above.

They'd destroyed almost half of the invading force already but it'd cost them. Of the six orbital defense platforms only Utgard, Edda and Tigard stations were still fully operational. Bifrost and Gladsheim stations were being evacuated, streams of warp energy connecting them to the ground as the personnel were teleported down. As for Hugin station, the platform had already been evacuated, its few remaining guns trying valiantly to keep the invaders back. Between them floated the ravaged forms of the unmanned satellite defenses. The small, hundred meter long platforms numbered over three thousand at the beginning of the battle. Most had been orbited into the battle and they had already been reduced to less than five hundred strong.

Turning back to the activity around him, John smirked at the sight of a Shrike class main battle hovertank with Kelly-087 perched on its armored hull pulling up in a cloud of dust; one of her arms handing on to one of its GGC-397A 165mm Hypersonic Railcannons. Hopping down off the floating machine she quickly walked up to her commander and gave a crisp salute. "We've finished securing the eastern approaches to the city."

"Good…," began the Chief, pausing as a particularly massive salvo of nukes went off in orbit, showering the area in bright, white light. Looking up as the flash ended, the Chief realized that those weren't nukes, the flashes having been the wrong color. Consulting the battle network he determined that the explosion was Gladsheim's reactor going critical. Already he could see hundreds of thousands of small, black dots entering the atmosphere. "Get the rest of those Marines into the landers. Something tells me we don't have much time left."

* * *

_Armon Planetary Defense Installation_

_Combat Information Center_

"Have we received clearance from Admiral Cole yet?" queried General Kara Suffield. Nominally the commander of both the planetary defenses and the local Marines, she'd delegated the command of the ground defenses to the Spartan's commander and had taken command of the orbital and airborne defenses herself. 'Talk about understaffing," she sighed. It was reasonable she supposed. Harvest was located deep within Terran Commonwealth space. The thought of an invading force showing up in the middle of human space and not in the border marches had been ridiculous before today.

"Yes ma'am," replied one of the men manning the numerous surrounding consoles. "Authentication codes verified. We're ready to fire."

"Good," she sighed. "Status on the evacuation of Bifrost station?"

"Just finishing now ma'am," replied another subordinate.

"Good, ready our missile batteries and target the area around Bifrost. Coordinate with the station's AI for self-destruct. I want to make this as big a bang as possible." She knew that even now the nearly crippled station was still tearing into the nearby invaders with whatever weaponry remained. The onboard AI would wait until the last possible moment before downloading itself to the planet, its evacuation in essence.

The reinforced command structure was located almost a half a kilometer underground and surrounded by heavy shielding, armor plating and psionic resonators believed to be capable of repelling even the largest of Zerg creatures. Adjacent to its depths, dozens of massive silos began opening. Inside were the massive forms of Polaris class Interstellar Ballistic Missiles, distant descendants of the ICBMs of the Cold War. Armed with four dozen eight hundred megaton anti-matter boosted nuclear fusion warheads each, the missiles were designed for one thing and one thing only: destruction on a truly massive scale. Equipped with warp engines of their own, each missile could lay waste to the surface of any planet within fifteen light-years.

"Ma'am, incoming Zerg Mutalisks and Brood Lords!"

"Open up on all anti-air defenses and cover our missile launches," ordered the general.

The sky filled with hundreds of lasers, projectiles and missiles. The anti-air defense grid of the PDI was essentially the land based counterpart to the ones on the ODPs above and like their orbital cousins; the base took the appearance of a lawn sprinkler. The approaching Zerg forces were quickly torn from the sky, their weak return fire absorbed by the dome-like energy shield covering the base.

"Launch missiles," ordered Suffield. A deep rumbling filled the base as fifty massive forms were catapulted from the ground by electromagnetic launchers, the air around them rippling with gauss discharge. Igniting their engines well beyond the shield perimeter, the missiles rose on pillars of fire, quickly breaking through the atmosphere on course for the densest of the Zerg formations.

The missiles quickly passed the dying form of Bifrost Station, the Zerg pounding away at its blackened and twisted form as its remaining turrets spat back whatever fire they could. The panels covering the forward sections of the ISBMs jettisoned and dozens of sub-missiles released; the smaller projectiles each seeking their assigned target.

Time seemed to stop for a moment and then the heavens burned. Twenty four hundred nuclear warheads ignited as one along with the main reactor of Bifrost and Hugin Stations. Entire swaths of orbit were flooded with pure atomic energy several orders of magnitude more intense than the core of a star. It lasted only a few seconds and when the skies cleared there was no sign of the previous inhabitants. Zerg, debris, bodies; nothing had survived the fire. In one moment almost nineteen million Zerg ceased to exist, ninety-six percent of their remaining orbital strength.

Taking advantage of the invader's confusion, the six Marathon class battlecruisers and forty escorts of Admiral Preston Cole's Fifth Flotilla, Sixth Fleet swept into the battle, their turrets clearing the skies with brutal efficiency. Ten minutes later it was over and Harvest's orbit was secure.

The battle in space was over. But as hard as they had tried they'd failed in their ultimate objective. Almost a million Zerg had managed to enter the atmosphere. The once pristine shores of Harvest had been contaminated, soiled by blight. All that was left was saving as many lives as they could.

Harvest was lost.


	9. Chapter Six, Part Two

**Chapter Six, Part Two**

The Chief was standing in the back of an M223 Command Vehicle looking over the tactical holo-table. The battle in orbit had ended almost half an hour earlier and now it was up to him to delay the Zerg long enough for the colony ship The Final Frontier to arrive to evacuate the civilians. Then the gloves would come off and the Zerg would be made to regret ever setting foot on a human world.

The invaders had done as expected, landing in several concentrated positions among the vast fields of grain that covered the surface of the small planet. Examining footage from both orbital surveillance satellites and several dozen orbiting Hummingbird URAVs he could already make out the disgusting creep that covered everything in reach. The hideous shapes of Zerg structures sprouted like diseased flora among the fields of pulsating purple/grey goo and were spitting out more and more Zerg at an almost terrifying pace.

At the moment the greatest threat was a major Zerg 'base' located within four hundred kilometers of Utgard. Almost a quarter of a million civilians were huddled in the city awaiting rescue and if the Zerg breached the defense perimeter the death toll would be enormous.

Turning to his 'officers', the members of his personal team, John sighed. "This is going to get messy. I'm going to have one of the battlecruisers begin orbital bombardment of the enemy position. Kelly, I want you to take command of Alpha Squad and hold the eastern approach to the Zerg base. William will take Beta to the west, Fred with Gamma to the north-east, Linda with Delta to the north-west. I'll hold the line with Grace, Sam and Maria between the base in the north and Utgard in the south. Each of you are to take one sixth of our forces to form your squads. I'll keep a third here. I don't care what you take but make sure you have some artillery with you."

Receiving nods of confirmation, John dismissed them before commented, "By the way, the Tyrannosaurus super-heavies are mine." They could all feel the feral grin on their commander's face and shared it. John liked his big guns.

Watching the map change as the various landers took off towards their assigned positions, the Chief could feel the subtle tension that came before a battle; his inner Raptus calling him to battle in its primitive lust for death. All around the makeshift base he could feel this tension spreading in lesser form among the men. It was so unnaturally quiet, birds and insects having been driven away by the Marine's earlier preparations.

Seeing that his forces were ready he made the call, "This is Spartan-117 to the TCSC Everest. Do you receive?"

"This is Admiral Cole. We read you Chief," replied the voice of the man almost two thousand kilometers above his head.

"I am requesting kinetic bombardment at the following coordinates," commented the Spartan, keying in a series of numbers on the console before him. "Sustain for five minutes."

"Roger that Chief. We'll have that place turned to dust faster than you can say 'Big red button of death'."

John smirked at that. "Understood. Standing by."

In low orbit above, the sleek, bird-like form of the three and a half kilometer long Marathon class battlecruiser rotated on its axis, bringing its forty-eight dorsal missile launchers in alignment for direct bombardment. Small jets of atmosphere escaped the silos as the hatches protecting the launchers opened. Gauss distortion shimmered as forty-eight missiles escaped their homes and plunged into the planet's atmosphere on a direct line for Zerg base 'alpha'. Little more than a rod of tungsten mounted to a rocket motor and guidance system, the weapons relied on the acceleration of gravity for their destructive power.

Below the Chief looked up, four dozen pillars of fire streaking like meteorites straight for the entrenched enemy location. Turning to the feed from one of the orbiting drones John was just in time to see the first missiles strike. The ground almost seemed to ripple outward from the impact site; Zerg creatures, structures and underground tunnels shattering from kinetic force far beyond what they could possibly tolerate. More and more missiles impacted, the overpressure causing ground and air units alike to explode in showers of gore, their acidic blood singing the surrounding cracked and contaminated ground. From the comparatively tiny roaches and Zerglings to the massive Ultralisks and Brutalisks nothing was immune to the destruction wrote by the simple rods of metal.

This bombardment continued for the allotted five minutes, the Everest's launchers firing one round each every five seconds. By the time it was over, the ground around the Zerg base had been reduced to a small mountain of jagged rock covered in incinerated creep and hissing acid. Moments passed and John wasn't surprised to discover some of the enemy creatures had survived, crawling out of their ruined position and trying to escape the scene.

"This is 117 to all units. Kinetic bombardment sequence has been completed. Remaining enemy units are attempting to escape. Engage and terminate." Exiting his command vehicle, John retrieved his gauss rifle from his back, checking the weapon as he fell in among the slowly advancing mass of vehicles and soldiers. With five groups closing from five different directions, the nearby Zerg force was about to be crushed to paste. As they closed to within ten kilometers his detachment of Crucible class siege tanks and Blaze class rocket artillery stopped, readying their long range guns. Keying in the firing zones for each squad's artillery, John let the local battle AIs handle the precise targeting for each vehicle. Seconds later hundreds of tungsten flechette rounds and incendiary rockets soared over their heads and even more of the Zerg died.

By the time the assembled marines had engaged the target, the Zerg were in a sorry state. Most of the enemy creatures had long since been slaughtered and the assembled forces were more than happy to finish the job. Raising his gauss rifle, John drilled a nearby Hydralisk through the head, the creature's upper body ripped from its lower by the hypersonic projectile. Beside him the eerie shriek of the twin particle lasers mounted to a Tyrannosaurus class tank sounded as twin beams of death ripped one of the few surviving Ultralisks apart, the laser component burning through its tough carapace while the particle component disrupted the intra-molecular bonds that held it together on the most basic levels.

Five minutes later it was over and the orbiting drones confirmed that there were no remaining Zerg forces within fifty kilometers of their position. As the Athenas swept in to pick up the Marines and vehicles, John was surprised to see the shattered form of a Xenomorph queen among the dead Zerg bodies.

"That's not a good sign," commented Linda as she approached the scene, nearby Marines eying the dead alien suspiciously.

"So they have been assimilated," replied John. "I guess it explains the acidic blood and the attacks over the years."

"They were trying to soften us up," Kelly continued. "Weaken us for the eventual invasion."

"And here it is," concluded John. "We'll not see the end of this for a long, long time."

* * *

_Utgard Outskirts_

_Two Days Later_

Two days. Two days of combat, of victory and setbacks, of losses and pain. For John it had been the hardest two days of his life. Despite what he'd been created for, no Spartan had actually served in a true 'war' before. Combat situations yes, actions lasting weeks yes but an actual war? No.

In the two days since the Zerg's arrival they'd seen setback after setback. Orbital scans were showing that almost two thirds of Edda was now covered in creep. They'd lost Gladsheim city almost a day before but fortunately had been able to evacuate all of the hundred and fifty thousand civilians before that time. Images from the surviving Hummingbirds showed the once pristine city was lying in ruins, its graceful skyscrapers of metal, glass, stone and concrete covering in creep, debris from automobiles and the last few hours of hasty evacuation having been covered over by the pulsating organic carpet.

Looking back at the truly massive form of the colony ship hovering above Utgard, John was eternally grateful for its presence. So far there hadn't been a single civilian death despite the odds facing them. Injuries sure, some even critical, but not one innocent life had been taken. They only had a few thousand civilians left in the city and then they could abandon this position and pull back to the PDIs which had fortunately held against any attempts to capture them. The massive fortresses were more than able to defend themselves against the Zerg but as a precaution General Suffield had ordered all non-essential personnel evacuated along with the civilians. Within a few more hours the only people remaining on Harvest's surface would be the roughly twenty-five thousand surviving Marines.

After that the remaining forces would be evacuated and the warships in orbit would begin the systematic nuclear carpet bombing of each and every infested area on the planet. Being so deep within the Terran Commonwealth's space, HIGHCOM had decided that reducing most of the planet to radioactive glass would be necessary to prevent the planet from becoming the Commonwealth's version of Char, a launching point for a Zerg invasion of the rest of the inner colonies and of Earth itself.

Still they had a few more hours before that could happen and the Zerg had established yet another base nearby. John snorted at that. 'You'd think they'd learn after the last six times,' he grumbled in the privacy of his own mind. Six times they'd overrun Zerg bases threatening Utgard in the past two days. Six times the orbiting battlecruisers had turned the land on which those bases rested to ash via orbital bombardment, all the while they keep up a steady suppression of the Zerg across the rest of the planet using tactical nuclear missiles. Yet still they came and still they tried.

"Well here we go again," he commented as his forces moved out towards the Zerg position. They'd long since stopped using the Athenas as the Zerg had drastically upped the number of Mutalisks and spore crawlers in the area. Not enough to threaten the heavily armored vehicles of the TCMC, but enough that they had to move in large columns to concentrate their anti-air firepower.

Silently walking beside one of the six remaining Tyrannosaurus super-heavies left on the planet, nicknamed Bob by the marines, the Chief hoped that this would be their last major battle. Even Spartans got tired and after two solid days of fighting he felt a bone-deep weariness. Most of the Marines were keeping themselves awake with stims, caffeine and looted candy from Utgard's numerous convenience stores. Unfortunately, even stimulants couldn't compensate for the lack of sleep and it was becoming dangerous for them to stay awake much longer while in active combat. You missed things that way and that could get you and your comrades killed.

Halting the column, John decided to scout ahead. Most of their URAVs had long since been shot down and satellite surveillance could only get you so far. Activating his cloak, the Spartan sprinted forward. He may not have been as fast as Kelly but he could get by. His sixth sense told him something was wrong and so he stopped to climb a dead tree, its base coated in creep and its leaves having long since turned brown and mostly fallen off.

Nearby he could see the form of a Raptus, clearly a scout, and he realized that was the reason his instincts had warned him. Turning up the gain on his acoustic sensors, he could hear the black creature sniffing the air, roaming the area and circling closer to his tree. He'd fought plenty of these things in the past two days and both his experience and something more primal in his DNA knew what it was doing. It was searching, looking for its prey, the smell of the unknown, the smell of blood. John shook his head at that realizing he'd been drooling slightly at the thought. That was a clear sign his base instincts were getting the better of him. He needed sleep.

Shaking off the primal calling in his blood, he prepared himself for the upcoming battle. Replacing the rifle on his back, John held his arms up in what looked to be a boxing form, priming the twin emitters on his forearms. The Xenomorph had just turned to his position when John struck, twin blades of pure psionic energy bursting forth from his extremities and slicing into the predator before him. The technology had been refined from study of recovered Protoss Zealot armor and was fairly common within the TCMC.

Still, the powerful animal before him wouldn't go down easily, grappling and slicing its razor sharp claws across his shields to no effect. Backing off and ripping his blades out of the creature, the Spartan erupted in a flurry of moves that left the alien in several pieces, its acidic blood spilling out of the few non-cauterized wounds to scorch the ground at his feet. Signaling the Marines to move forward, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. In doing so he missed the looks of awe on their faces as he stood over the dismembered alien, his twin blades swirling threateningly around his clenched fists.

Shrugging, John turned away, ignoring the small part of his mind that wanted to howl like a wolf at the kill.

* * *

The battle for the Zerg base had gone much like the others. They'd encircled the base and proceeded to crush whatever was left after the bombardment. Replacing his rifle's magazine, he watched as the massive form of The Final Frontier took off, the last of the civilians having boarded. All around him the Athena assault landers were setting down, loading personnel and vehicles for their trip off the defiled planet. The same was happening at the six PDIs, their defense systems set to automatic as their inhabitants packed up and left.

Stepping onto one of the landed A-Variant Pelican drop-ships that had been brought in to handle overflow, John took a seat and idly buckled his crash harness. As the last of the landed craft took off, he stared out the open rear hatch to witness the first of the nuclear missiles rain down upon the torn and blasted hellscape that most of Harvest had become. The flash was a spectacular thing to witness, and as his helmet polarized, he could see more of the fireballs raining down from the sky. Another landed right in the middle of the ruins of Gladsheim, the hundred and fifty year old city erased from existence by atomic fire.

Closing the hatch, the Chief leaned back in his seat. He couldn't shake the feeling that this would be a long, long war.


End file.
